Two Sheepskins and a Star
by Helen West
Summary: Heyes and the Kid, having earned amnesty and gotten married to Beth Warren and Cat Christy, respectively, try to build new lives. Heyes has two academic degrees and the Kid has a new post as sheriff. This story, featuring both characters, follows Not Again!, Hannibal Heyes Goes to New York, Two Degrees of Separation, and Two Degrees of Separation, Part II.
1. Chapter 1

_Two Sheepskins and a Star_ follows _Not Again!, Hannibal Heyes Goes to New York, Two Degrees of Separation,_ and _Two Degrees of Separation, Part II_, and they need to be read first in that order. I thank my loyal existing fans for their great support. And I apologize for borrowing these characters. I am just using them to tell a story, not to make money. I will readily acknowledge having changed these characters around some. People change, and so do interesting characters. I will again note that aphasia, from which Heyes continues to suffer mildly in this story, is a very real and very serious ailment. I have no intention of making light of it in my fictionalized version. In fact, people who can make it with aphasia are heroes to me. The painful process of job application is real enough, as many of us know first-hand. I dedicate this story to people who are suffering through unemployment or under-employment. I've been there and so have our boys. In fact, most of this material was written while I was in those states.

A sparse weekday crowd in an arena north of Central Park cheered as a bunch of Indians rode around with a handful of cowboys on their heels. The chief fell dramatically with a pretend bullet in his chest as the other Indians scattered out the gates. The heavily made-up heroine lay, bosom heaving, safely in the arms of the handsome cowboy hero. The crowd went wild. When the noise settled down as the sets were changed between acts of the wild-west show, a woman in the crowd sighed, "Oh, it's so exciting out West! And romantic! I wish my Harold would take me there, Edna. Maybe he'd save me from an Indian chief, too!"

"I wouldn't count on it, Mabel," said her friend. "Not many bagel bakers do much rescuing, do they?"

Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry, sitting near those ladies, tried without much success to restrain their laughter. Jed said, "Heyes, I thought you were crazy when you said we oughta' go to the Buffalo Bill show after our wedding. But you were right. It's more fun than I've had in I don't recollect when."

"Must seem pretty silly compared with the real thing," commented Beth Heyes quietly as they waited for the next act to begin.

"Yeah, they can't fool you," added Cat Curry.

"Not that we've exactly shot down a lot of Indians," said Heyes. "We always tried to steer clear of them. Not always successfully, but we tried. They're too hard to fool."

The Kid nodded. "Yeah, remember that Apache tracked us to the Jordan place? They just don't give up."

"We never met him, but we knew he was there," agreed Heyes. "Nobody else could've tracked us like that for that long, across creeks and lakes, and over rocks, and even when we got a ride in a wagon. I'll never know how they found us. But they did. If it weren't for those girls with rifles, I guess we'd still be in prison."

A couple of people in neighboring seats were starting to stare at the boys, wondering who might have such stories to tell. Cat looked at the strangers uneasily and shushed the boys as the next act started. It was a trick riding show that they all enjoyed. It was followed by a sharp-shooter with a pistol. The famous rifle shooter Annie Oakley was not appearing, much to Curry's disappointment. He had always had a professional interest in her.

Curry patiently watched the slender young Mexican performer, Perez the Magnificent, use a colt 45 to shoot the bull's eyes on targets, the hearts and spades out of aces, shoot the burning tips of off cigarettes, and shoot coins out of the air. When the showman got to doing fast draw against some colleagues, Heyes poked his partner with his elbow and grinned. Curry could have beaten the showman at any of these exhibitions, especially the last one. All four of the newlyweds knew it.

Then the bearded and mustachioed Cody rode his palomino horse to the center of the ringer and announced, "Perez the Magnificent will now take on all comers at fast draw. Anyone who can best him will win $100!" Cody, in his fringed leather outfit, neatly pirouetted his horse so he could look around the large crowd. But there was silence. Not a hand went up. Heyes and Curry exchanged a glance. Both shook their heads almost imperceptibly. "Come on folks. In all of New York City, there must be somebody thinks he might be able to win that hundred!" Still there was silence "Alright, make it $1,000!" Now there was a buzz in the crowd. The boys looked at each other again. Curry raised his eyebrows. He and Cat could use $1,000. And what would be the harm, now that he had amnesty?

A lanky young black-haired man in a white cowboy hat stepped into the ring. "What's your name, son?" asked Cody. The challenger's answer was inaudible to the crowd, so Cody repeated it loudly. "Mr. Eduardo Bedia of Mexico is the challenger. Give him a gun, Mr. Brown. Is that to your liking, Bedia?" The young man held the gun and spun the chambers. He nodded. The challenger was sweating as he fastened a gun belt around his waist and put his borrowed Colt into the holster.

A fresh target was put up for the men to fire at. "On the count of three," announced Cody, "Ready! One, two, three!" The contest was close, but Perez had won. The young challenger shook his head and then shook Perez's hand. "Good shooting, both! Better luck next time, Mr. Bedia!" said Cody while the crowd clapped and chuckled sympathetically.

Next up was a petite young woman dressed in black, with a gun belt around her corseted waist. She had come prepared. Her blonde hair, gathered on top of her head, gleamed in the sun. Cody studied the young woman and seemed only mildly interested. She wasn't pretty enough and she had no notable presence. "We have an aspiring Annie Oakley here, Annie II!" announced Cody to general laughter. "But this one wields a pistol, and she brought her own. Both ready? Target's in place. Ready, one, two three!"

Perez won again, but more narrowly. "Good try, young lady! Isn't she good, folks?" shouted Cody. The bold young woman now won the applause, though no cash.

Then Cody announced, "We've been asked if professionals can try. Yes! All comers are welcome!"

A grizzled policeman in his uniform came out to try his luck, with the crowd booing him good-naturedly. Perez beat him badly to the draw, although the policeman hit the bulls-eye squarely with his belated shot. Again, the crowd supported the loser.

But Jed's eyes were on the winner. "He does better under pressure. Every shot's faster than the last one. I admire that," commented Curry under his breath. He looked at Heyes again. Heyes shrugged. If his partner wanted to try his luck, he didn't see any particular reason why not. It wouldn't seem to pose any particular danger to either of them. The crowd wasn't large on a summer weekday. No press would be likely to be there since the show had been in town a few days already. Surely no college presidents were in attendance. And Heyes wasn't shooting anyhow. If any western criminals were there, they'd just know to avoid Louisville. Curry glanced at his wife, who looked skeptical, but finally nodded. Unless Perez got noticeably faster yet, there was no question who would win. And the Currys could use the extra money.

So the Kid, looking cool as a cucumber, made his way through the crowd and vaulted over the rail into the arena. He spoke to one of Cody's assistants. In his good wedding suit and very short golden hair, the Kid didn't look much like a western shooting champion. Cody gave him only a casual glance as he asked what name the new challenger would like announced. He looked up in surprise at the answer. Cody announced to the crowd, "The new sheriff of Louisville is shooting next. Didn't say what state. New York? No – Colorado. I've heard of it, but never been there. If you can shoot, Mr. new sheriff, I'll visit." The crowd laughed.

An assistant handed the new challenger a pistol. Curry looked at it, sighted down the barrel, and spun the chamber. He shook his head. Heyes had a nervous little smile on his face. "He's a regular gun-smith," he murmured to Beth, "Not easy to please him."

Another pistol was handed along from a gate, man to man, until it reached Curry. He felt the balance, gave it a good look, and nodded. It would do. But he spoke, just loud enough for Cody to hear, "Decent balance. Not real good. Not like mine, but shouldn't slow me down too awful much." He loaded the gun with professional smoothness and put it into the holster provided. Curry tied down the holster and settled it with care. Perez was looking at his new challenger more intently than he had at the ones before.

Cody's assistant lined up the two men, and the famous ring master announced, "Sheriff of Louisville versus Perez the Magnificent, ready, one, two, three!"

The crowd was stunned into silence as the challenger loosed his shot before Perez's gun was even level to aim at the target. For good measure, the Kid sent six shoots into the smoking center of the bull's eye before the crowd could pull itself together to leap to its feet and start shouting. No act all day had gotten a reaction like this. Cody, visibly surprised, shouted. "A new champion! The Sheriff of Louisville! Congratulations, Sheriff! Shake the man's hand, Perez!"

Perez shook his rival's hand with a fierce look. He had been trying to win a spot in this show and his chances had just gone up in gun smoke. The defeated man turned and walked away with his arms crossed over his chest. Curry called after him, "You're good, boy. Else I'd never have shot against you. Keep at it!" The defeated Perez looked over his shoulder in puzzlement. He still didn't know to whom he had lost, but he was starting to wonder in earnest.

The Kid had an embarrassed smile on his face as he waved to the crowd. The ladies were enjoying him, shrieking with joy over the handsome champion. Heyes had a familiar proud grin on his face. His partner, even with a strange gun, was still the best. Under cover of the still cheering crowd, Cody rode to the winner's side and asked, "What brings you to New York, Kid? I'm right, aren't I? You're Kid Curry?

Curry nodded, smiled, and blushed as he reached up to shake Cody's hand. "Yes, sir. Good to meet you! You know we got amnesty? And Heyes and me got married. Today."

"Well, gentlemen, I'd heard you two were close but I had no idea . . ." said Cody, laughing. The Kid blushed even harder and was so embarrassed at this unintended implication that he couldn't choke out an answer for a few moments.

Heyes, who had made his way to the side of the arena, was laughing, too. "We got married to two lovely ladies, Mr. Cody. Glad to make your acquaintance, sir." The crowd was still going nuts, so there was little chance that many people would hear what was being said.

Cody leaned over to shake Heyes' hand. "Nice to meet you, Heyes. Though I wish your partner hadn't decided to make a fool out of me today while my star's out sick. Guess Mr. Curry can use the money, if he just got married to that lovely lady over there."

The two ex-outlaws and the showman chuckled with delight as they looked at each other. "It's something to meet you boys, at last. Heard about you for a lot of years."

"And we've sure heard about you!" said the Kid. "I know you've got to get on with the show, but it'd be nice to talk, later."

"It would, at that," said Cody. "I'll tell you what. Let me take you to dinner – at Delmonico's. See you all four there, at six."

The Kid nodded his thanks and climbed back into the crowd, where people surged forward to shake his hand and pat him on the back. He gave Cat a dramatic kiss, to the delight of the audience. Nobody much paid attention as Heyes and Beth shared their own passionate kiss. The crowd hadn't heard the new shooting champion's right name or guessed who might be with him. Heyes and Beth didn't care who saw them or didn't. Life together was good.

The two couples watched the closing act - a spectacular Indian attack on a western settlement, while plenty of arrows and fire and screaming. But for two western legends and their girls, all was serene. They held hands and waited for when they would get to go back to their respective hotel rooms.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

A few hours later, two fine looking men and their ladies, dressed in their most elegant clothes, walked into Delmonico's. The three who had never been there before looked around curiously at the most famous and elegant restaurant in New York with its massive chandeliers and swarms of tuxedo-clad waiters. There was no doubting where their table was. It was in the center of the restaurant, under the gaze of every patron there. Cody was already there, in an embroidered buck skin suit, accompanied by a group of gaudily dressed Indians and a couple of white-hatted cowboys. With the bad publicity Cody had gotten lately for his treatment of his Indians, it would do him no harm to be seen treating some of them to the best dinner in the city. On either side of Cody sat beautiful young ladies clad in low-cut dresses and glittering with jewelry. The famous showman stood to greet his guests, with his voice loud enough to attract the notice of those few diners who hadn't been staring at the prominent table already. "Good evening, Mr. Curry, Mrs. Curry, Mr. Heyes, Mrs. Heyes. Congratulations on your marriages!"

"Thank you, Mr. Cody" said Heyes. "It's real nice of you to ask us. I'll bet Delmonico's has no objection." He winked at Cody. The former gang leader was sure that there was a commercial understanding in place between Cody and the famous restaurant. The publicity would do neither party any harm. He knew a racket when he saw one. But if it got him and his wife and friends a good dinner for free, who was Heyes to object?

Cody went on, "I hope you enjoy your wedding dinner, boys, ladies. Come, sit across from me."

"Thanks, Mr. Cody," said the Kid. "Sorry if I spoiled your show this afternoon."

"Not at all, Curry," said Cody, "You added drama. The unexpected is always exciting."

Cody introduced his colorful retinue. It was hard for the Currys and Heyeses to pay much attention to their elegant and delicious dinner, the conversation was so lively. "So, tell me about how you all come to be in New York," said Cody after they had ordered their steaks. The bejeweled young women paid close attention.

Curry explained, "Heyes has been studying here. After we got out of prison in Wyoming, we came to see him graduate."

"I beg your pardon?" said Cody, caught off guard when he had been asking the question only to be polite. "How did an outlaw – former outlaw – come to be studying in New York City? Sounds like it must be a good story."

Heyes kept his voice low, speaking with a show of reluctance. "I came to New York for medical treatment and met the future Mrs. Heyes at a clinic. She was the one who convinced me to try college classes at Columbia University. In mathematics."

"Mathematics? Not ballistics?" asked Cody with a smile.

"Yes, math was always my gift. Figuring up plans for the gangs, you know – getting the timing and other logistics down right," said Heyes. "I do applied math. Trigonometry is my academic specialty."

Cody chuckled. "Trigger-nometry sounds more like something the Kid here ought to teach, don't it?"

Everybody laughed. "How was you hurt, Heyes?" asked one of Cody's cowboys.

"Bullet," said Heyes tersely, hoping the man wouldn't pursue it and trying to direct attention away from himself. "You must have gotten shot a bunch of times, Mr. Cody. Tell us . . ."

"Shot by a posse?" asked one of the Indians, not letting Heyes distract the Cody faction from its line of questioning.

Heyes nodded. "They never even knew they got me, I guess. They'd given up and were riding away, Kid tells me. Don't know why they fired. I don't remember any of it. You'd have to ask Kid for details."

"Is that what gave you that mark on your head?" Cody asked Heyes, scenting a colorful story.

Heyes nodded unhappily. "Yeah. Don't remember any of it, like I say. You'd have to ask the Kid."

Jed, trying to help out his partner, carried on the story, "Yeah, my horse carried us both, but Heyes' horse, Clay, led the way, though he was hurt. He'd never been there that I know of, but he took us straight to Christy's Place in Louisville – that's how I met Cat. She took us in."

"So you were hurt bad?" asked the inquisitive Indian. "Hurt how?"

Heyes was going to have to fess up. "I couldn't talk for a while. But they healed me up and let me take some classes with the lady I just married. Luckiest thing that ever happened to me, getting shot in the head." Heyes held Beth's hand.

"It was pretty lucky for me, too," said Beth with a blazing smile. "Heyes was the most brilliant student I've ever had, not mention the best looking. Columbia University was pretty glad to have him, even after they found out who he was. He just got his BA and MA, both. He graduated summa cum laude – the highest honor they give."

"Wow!" said Cody. "That's very impressive, Mr. Heyes. You couldn't talk and now you've got two degrees. I wish I had a spot for mathematics in my troupe. But I do have a spot for shooting exhibitions. Mr. Curry, would that interest you? I could offer you better pay and more glory in a month than any sheriff would get in a lifetime."

"How much per show are you talkin'?" asked Curry with evident interest.

"Same as you're getting today," said Cody, handing Curry his check. "$1,000. How does that sound?"

"No, thank you," said Curry, smiling at Cat and putting the check away safely. "Just asked out of curiosity. I've got a job all lined up, in Louisville, Colorado."

"But I'd pay you enough to bring Mrs. Curry along and . . . any family you might have," said Cody, politely not being too direct about the baby that a careful look could detect was on the way. "And our work is a lot safer than bringing in criminals."

"Oh, do come with us!" simpered one of the young show girls sitting by Cody. They were admiring the good-looking Curry.

"No, thanks," repeated Curry. "I gave my word to four governors and a senator that I'd serve as a sheriff. And to my wife, too. And Heyes and me, we keep our word."

"Well, I can respect that," said Cody. "But you can't blame me for trying. Enjoy that steak and that $1,000, Mr. Curry. And know that any time you change your mind, you can come and talk to me about getting more like that."

"I appreciate that, Mr. Cody," said the Kid. "But I ain't gonna travel all over no more. This lady's countin' on me to stay by her side."

"I wish safe cracking was good in an arena," said Cody to Heyes, "I don't suppose you've got any tricks you can show off in public?"

Heyes was quiet, but his partner piped up, "He does stuff with cards goes way beyond tricks. More like magic, but real pretty. And cards ain't all. He can do magic with almost anything."

"Oh?" Now Cody was even more interested in the dark former outlaw.

"No thanks, Mr. Cody," said Heyes. "I gave my word, too. Said I go for a teaching post, and I will. And I've got a wife I want to stay by, too."

From there, the boys and Buffalo Bill fell to trading stories about their colorful exploits. Buffalo Bill might be older, but Heyes and Curry had plenty of western stories to match up with his. Cody, however, had the ladies sighing over his stories of the European courts. "Yes, that little Queen Victoria fair can't take her eyes off me," Cody said with sparkling eyes.

Heyes shook his head. "We've never gotten to Europe. It's a bit hard to manage a passport when you've got a price on your head. Maybe now that we've got amnesty we'll get across the Atlantic and look around."

"I hope so, Heyes, I surely would like that," said Beth.

"So would we, wouldn't we, Jed?" said Cat, taking her new husband's hand. "Though maybe not quite yet."

"At the moment," said Beth, "we've all four got plenty to do right here in America. I'm looking forward to a quiet honeymoon in West Virginia with my sister and her family. No shooting. No dynamite. No posses. No trials. No returning money and catching other criminals. Just family. Maybe do some fishing on the lake."

"Peace and quiet doesn't sound like exactly what you're used to, boys," said Buffalo Bill. "You're gonna have some things to get adjusted to in married life. Just ask my wife."

Heyes and Curry traded disbelieving glances. Buffalo Bill might just have a point there. But somehow, sitting between two lovely show girls, he hadn't grasped it himself. The two new wives felt for Mrs. Cody left at home with the children while her husband circled the globe and made money.

Historical Note – I've taken creative license here. Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show was not actually performing in New York City in late June, 1891, when these events would have taken place. They had just left Belgium and were going to the Netherlands.


	2. Chapter 2

"I have cancelled your reservations at the Black Eagle Hotel for tonight," Jim Santana had said with a knowing sparkle in his eyes and his arm around his own wife as he left the reception that morning. "I hope you do not mind, Hannibal and Jedediah. Clara and I thought that perhaps you and your lovely brides might enjoy the bridal suites here at the Plaza a little more. Eh?"

The boys could not help but agree as they returned from Jed's triumph at the Wild West show and their sensational dinner with Buffalo Bill and his retinue at Delmonico's. Heyes, Beth, Curry, and Cat stepped down from a pair of cabs and entered the palatial lobby of the Plaza. Heyes straightened his tie in one of the floor to ceiling mirrors and smiled promisingly at Beth. "Why bother?" she whispered in her groom's ear, as her hand ran down his back, "won't be wearing that for long . . . or anything else."

Heyes grinned at her. "Public appearances, darling."

"I sure didn't ever think I'd be staying in a place like this!" said Curry to Cat as they glanced around at their luxurious surroundings. "Wow!"

"Watch the best and learn, husband," said his bride with pretended seriousness. "Or the best on this side of the Atlantic, anyhow." She and Jed chuckled happily together, thinking of Buffalo Bill's stories about grand European hotels.

The two pairs walked up to the polished carved wood front desk. "We'd like to check in. Sorry for the late hour. I understand Mr. James Santana made reservations for us for tonight," said Heyes to the desk clerk.

The clerk looked at the two couples superciliously, "Please sign here, Sirs and Madams. Mr. Santana did make two reservations for guests tonight. He said to wait until past midnight if necessary."

"Jim said we're in the bridal suites?," said Curry as he signed in with his left arm still around his wife. The clerk observed their names with care so he could address the wealthy Mr. Santana's friends appropriately. Cat gave her new husband a glowing look as she finished signing "Mrs. Jedediah Curry," for the first time.

"So you've got space for us?" asked the Kid, whose hotel had a single bridal suite in name only.

"Of course, Mr. Curry!" said the clerk, appalled that anyone would think the Plaza had only two bridal suites, "Mr. Santana reserved bridal suites 3 and 4 for you. We have several more."

Heyes signed his name in the immaculate hand-writing that Beth had taught him when he was still fighting to speak. Beth looked self-conscious as she wrote, in her own neat hand, "Mrs. Hannibal Heyes." She had practiced this new signature, but this was the first time that it really applied to her. The clerk watched them sign and carefully suppressed any sign that he recognized the names. Jedediah Curry, without the notorious nick-name behind which the first name normally hid, might have been new to him. But considering recent newspaper stories and years of wide-spread publicity before that, he could hardly help having heard of Hannibal Heyes. The two names together spelled out the situation very clearly.

"So you are friends of Mr. Santana's?" inquired the clerk skeptically as he handed the two new husbands their gleaming gold door keys. "He and his wife have some . . . interesting acquaintances."

"Including us," said Heyes with a warning flash in his eye. "I've known Jim Santana fifteen years. He and I, and Mr. Curry, and the ladies, we'd all thank you for keeping our names quiet." A roll of bills quietly found its way across the desk. The desk clerk could certainly do math. He knew what Heyes, Curry, and their friends had been doing fifteen years before. But he could also count the numbers on those bills and see the disquieting look in Jedediah Curry's keen blue eyes.

"Mr. Santana said our stuff's in the rooms?" said the Kid.

The clerk kept his cool. "Yes, Mr. Curry, your luggage was sent up hours ago. And you can be assured that we will keep . . . undesirable elements away."

The four newlyweds crossed the polished marble floor to the elevators. A neatly uniformed young elevator operator opened the gate of the shiny brass cage elevator and invited the two couples in. "Wow, I never rode in one of these new-fangled things before!" the Kid whispered to Cat.

"What floor?" asked the young operator.

"What floors are bridal suites 3 and 4 on?" asked Heyes.

"The eighth floor – excellent views. Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. . . .?" the operator asked as he pulled a lever and the car began to climb.

"Heyes," said Beth with a proud look at her groom.

"And Curry," added Cat, reaching for her husband's hand.

The elevator operator turned to working the handle that controlled the car's speed. He concentrated carefully to avoid any unpleasant roughness in the operation of the machine. Then the meaning of the names he had just heard seemed to strike him. He snuck a couple of secretive, bright-eyed, glances at his infamous passengers, but said nothing.

"Here we are, ladies and gentlemen," announced the operator grandly, "the top floor!" as he smoothly lowered the machine's handle to avoid a hard stop and opened the gate for the two couples.

"Thanks, boy," said Heyes, flipping the young man a quarter.

"And you might keep it quiet," said Curry, hanging him a couple of folded up dollar bills.

"Wow, thanks K . . . Mr. Curry!" said the boy, happily pocketing his outsized tip.

As the cage vanished downward and the two newly married couple walked down the wood paneled hall, Heyes chuckled and spoke in low tones. "Not likely he'll keep it quiet! Press will be everywhere, after that performance of yours this afternoon, Jed. Word'll get around, no matter how much cash we hand out at the Plaza."

"Sorry, Heyes," muttered Curry, "Just couldn't resist. Sure can use that thousand, with the baby on the way. And your murder trial didn't exactly do us any favors, you know." Heyes scowled at him, but the blonde ex-outlaw started to laugh. "But why not let folks know who we are? We've kept so darn quiet for so long – why do we have to do that anymore?"

Heyes shrugged. "Maybe you don't, but I've got university presidents and academic deans to worry about. Got to behave proper, watch my academic reputation."

"But not too proper past that door, Mr. Heyes," said Beth with a wicked smile as she pointed at the sign that said "Bridal Suite 3."

Just as the two Western couples, with anticipatory smiles on their faces, were about to use their golden keys to open the doors of the two bridal suites, a slender figure in a busboy's uniform came rushing up to them. "Kid, Heyes, a word for the Brooklyn Eagle on your weddings and the Kid's fancy shooting at the show today?"

"No!" said the Kid, opening the door of the bridal suite just long enough to admit Cat and himself. Then he slammed the door shut in the reporter's eager young face.

The disguised reporter turned to Heyes, pulling out a notebook. He gave the darker ex-outlaw a hopeful look.

"You heard the man!" growled Heyes as he worked the gold key in the bridal suite's door.

Beth stepped through the door of bridal suite 3. Heyes stepped in behind her and slammed the door.

Beth looked at her annoyed husband and said, "Oh, Heyes! On our wedding night!"

Her groom sighed and put his arms around his bride. "I'll worry about it tomorrow, Elizabeth Heyes. Tonight, I got other things on my mind."

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The next morning Heyes made sure that he and Beth were dressed properly before they opened the door to anyone. The former leader of the Devil's Hole Gang rang for room service to get both couples a quiet breakfast. He watched carefully to see who came to the door. It was a real waiter whom he recognized from their reception, but the slender blonde young man looked nervous. "Here, boy," said Heyes to the waiter when he had deposited the breakfast trays on their desk, "Take this message to the front desk. We aren't happy with the security here. A reporter from the Brooklyn Eagle got up here last night dressed as a busboy. Mr. Santana will be distinctly displeased. After we and the Curries have eaten, we'll want to see a manager up here. And boy, what's your name?"

"Mortimer Whistler, Mr. Heyes." The waiter whispered. He was sweating.

Heyes held the waiter's gaze with his own for a long, tense moment. Then he said, "Listen, Mortimer, could you get this note delivered for me, and keep the address it's going to strictly private? If I'm sure no word got out, I'll make it well worth your while. If word gets out, you'll never work in hospitality or any other position of trust in this city again. You got my drift, boy?"

The young man nodded, swallowed hard, and carried the messages away as quietly as a mouse with all the squeak scared out of him.

When the breakfast dishes had been cleared away, both couples met in the Heyes' room. There was a soft knock on the door. "Who's there?" asked Heyes gruffly.

"Henry Laurence, manager of the Plaza."

Heyes opened the door a crack and looked the man up and down, while the Kid held his Colt on the man. He seemed authentic. The slender, mustachioed manager covered his nerves by looking fierce, with his mustache bristling. Heyes nodded crisply and let him in. The Kid returned his Colt to its holster on his hip.

Laurence immediately began to offer apologies and excuses, "Mr. and Mrs. Heyes, and Mr. and Mrs. Curry, we at the Plaza are mortified that a reporter bothered you on your wedding night! We will . . ."

Curry cut him off, "Forget it! Listen to my partner. And listen real good." He wasn't holding a gun any longer, but the manager darted a glance in the direction of the weapon.

"Yes, sir. We can arrange. . ."

Heyes' voice was calm but firm. "I'll decide about the arranging, if you don't mind, Mr. Laurence. If you can't manage anything I tell you, you let me know and we'll figure another way."

"Mr. Heyes, this is the Plaza. We know how to provide security for celebrities who stay here . . ."

"Well, you messed it up this time, didn't you? I'd rather try my way, Mr. Laurence. I've made a living keeping a whole damned gang and its take away from sheriffs, posses, and bounty hunters. You think the press is much different? Listen to me."

Laurence nodded and listened. A smile grew on his face as he nodded at the conclusion of what the former outlaw told him, with a few added touches from his equally imaginative partner. "I think we can manage that nicely, Mr. Heyes, Mr. Curry. And may I say, it's a pleasure doing business with you?"

Curry laughed. "I hope so, Laurence. If this don't work out, you might change your mind."

Later that morning, a dark-haired bus boy and a blonde waiter and a pair of maids whose uniforms didn't quite fit, especially over the growing middle of one maid, made their way down the back steps and out the back service entrance of the Plaza. They had suitcases in their hands. The four looked around a bit nervously as they walked down three blocks and caught a pair of cabs, one man and one woman to each, in different directions. Watchers from the upper floors of the Plaza looked on with satisfaction.

It wasn't long before an assortment of figures who had been eating push-cart food, reading newspapers, and otherwise loitering around near the Plaza just happened to stop what they were doing and hail cabs of their own to pursue the retreating "employees."

"There's one more, maybe we haven't fooled him – he's from the Herald-Trib – oh, there he goes." The manager put away his opera glasses. "Give it a few minutes, and I think you'll be in the clear, ladies and gentlemen. I really don't see any reason that you need to go individually."

"No carelessness, Mr. Laurence! Take nothing for granted. In our old business, we learned to watch every detail. You cut corners, and you wind up behind bars," said Heyes, brushing a microscopic bits of dust off of his suit.

"Or worse," said the Kid.

Laurence smiled. "Like on the front page of the _Times_," said Laurence with a satisfied glance at both former outlaws and their wives. He was enjoying this little adventure. "I wish I could share this story, but, of course, I won't."

"Discretion is the better part of valor, Mr. Laurence. It might also keep you from being fired," said Heyes with a slightly predatory smile.

"Or worse," said the Kid with a mild look at the hotel manager, who was looking a little pale.

Heyes turned to his wife, "Now, my dear Elizabeth, I think we might be safe to go out and catch cabs one at a time with a few minutes between each. That honeymoon your sister offered us far from here in an unexpected direction is sounding more attractive all the time. I – we'll see you at Charlie's place tonight, Jed and Cat. Good luck!"

The Kid nodded at his partner. In a few minutes a handsomely clad blonde man walked casually out the front door of the Plaza with a suitcase in his hand. Without looking around at all to check for watching reporters, he asked the bell captain to call him a cab. Soon, Kid Curry was headed in the direction of Charlie Homer's apartment. His wife set off in the same manner about five minutes later. Within twenty minutes, all four newlyweds had left the Plaza for the quarters they would inhabit until Heyes had taken care of business he wanted to start before they left for West Virginia.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Thurmont Brown walked down 7th Avenue in a haze, thinking more about the novel he was reading than about the reality of New York City around him. The pudgy young man was avoiding thinking about work until he had to. When he had been in law school at Columbia University, just two years before, he had never thought how dull practicing law might really get to be sometimes. The case research was occasionally challenging and he dealt with some interesting people now and then, but for the brilliant young lawyer, most of his legal practice just wasn't exciting enough to hold his interest. It was too easy. He had had some hopes when his old mathematics professor, Charlie Homer, had told him that one of his students would be coming around for a consultation. Homer had said the man was pretty interesting, although he hadn't said in what way. But Brown supposed the new potential client would turn out to be just as dull as the rest of them.

Brown walked into his office and, with an effort, returned his attention to business. A dark-haired man with a scarred face and a new brown leather briefcase was perched uneasily on the edge of one of the chairs in the waiting room. "This is Mr. Heyes," said Brown's secretary. "The client Professor Homer told you about?"

"Oh yes," said Brown. "I'll see you in a moment, Mr. Heyes. Give me about five minutes before you show him in, Mr. Jewell."

Shortly, the young secretary showed Heyes into Brown's office. It was a small but smartly furnished space with gleaming wood furniture with brass fittings. Heyes noticed what appeared to be an authentic rack of buffalo horns on the wall next to the young lawyer's diploma. Heyes smiled as he recognized the Columbia University coat of arms on the sheepskin. He wondered where he would wind up hanging his own diplomas, if he ever got the chance. Today's business might help him in the direction he wanted to go.

Brown rose to shake his potential client's hand. "Glad to meet you, Mr. Heyes. Professor Homer said he had recommended me to you. I'm glad you took him up on it. What can I do for you?"

Heyes looked uncomfortable despite the padded leather seat of the chair Brown had for clients. The lawyer noticed that his potential client spoke in a soft baritone voice with a western accent not too dissimilar from Homer's. That seemed promising. "I've never had a middle name. I'd like to take one. I understand you are experienced with that kind of thing."

Brown looked down at his desk as he took notes on a yellow legal pad. "Yes." He glanced up at Heyes for only an instant before he looked back down at his notes. "Why do you want to take a middle name?"

"I don't like my first name. I hate it. I never use it. Friends just call me Heyes. But now that I've got my B.A. and M.A. and I'm looking for a professorship, I'd like something more dignified. I can't change my first name, but if I could add a middle name I think it might help job applications. It might also help my authority as a professor once I'm hired. If I am. And my new wife likes the name. I do, too."

"That sounds reasonable enough," said Brown without enthusiasm.

"Is it complicated? Or expensive?" Heyes asked, trying not to sound as anxious as he felt.

Brown kept looking down at his notes as he spoke in detached tones. "No. Not normally. Taking a middle name rather than changing an existing name is particularly simple."

"Oh? What's involved?" asked Heyes.

"It depends slightly on where you were born. If you weren't born in New York, and your accent tells me that you weren't, you'll need to provide proof of where and when you were born. You fill out some forms. You pay a fee to file in civil court. If the judge approves the name change, and it would be rare for such a thing to be refused if you aren't a convicted criminal or otherwise trying to avoid criminal prosecution, you get approval and have the new name printed in a newspaper so the public can see it. Pretty simple." It sounded as if Brown had said all of this many times.

"Um. Not so simple," Heyes gulped.

"Please explain," said Brown looking up briefly as he continued to take notes. The suggestion of complications didn't seem to bother him in the least.

There was a moment of silence. Brown prompted Heyes, "Where were you born?"

"Missouri. A rural area outside of . . . Hannibal." Heyes' aphasia flared up so that he had to struggle to say the name – his own name.

Brown wrote that down and went to the next in what was clearly a long-accustomed series of questions. "Do you have a birth certificate?"

"No."

"A family Bible with the record of your birth in it?"

"No. And don't keep asking for documentary proof. Everything was burned when my family was slaughtered in the Kansas Border Wars. Our farm, the local church, my school – everything." Heyes sounded increasingly uncomfortable.

The young lawyer seemed totally unflappable. He glanced up at his client for only a moment. "Not having proof of birth is very common and not too hard to work around. I can manage it. Do you have a relative who can swear to your place and date of birth?"

"No. They were all . . . killed. My whole family . . . murdered. Or all but my second cousin, and he's two years younger than I am." Heyes struggled slightly with aphasia again.

It helped some that the lawyer seemed totally unfazed. "That is regrettable, but there are ways of dealing with it. Do you anticipate other problems?"

"Yes."

"What, specifically?" Brown looked up and met Heyes' eyes for just a second.

"I am a convicted felon. Or I was. I was pardoned on the one count I was convicted on. And I have been granted amnesty for the counts that were not brought to trial. I was also prosecuted for a crime of which I was found innocent."

Heyes was surprised that Brown kept looking determinedly at his notes. It had to be obvious to the lawyer who his new client was, yet the name and the dramatic story seemed to mean nothing to him. When the lawyer did look up, he looked merely curious in a mild, professional way. Heyes imagined he could hear the cash register ringing in his new lawyer's head. Money must come before anything else for the man.

"What were those crimes, please?"

Heyes recited his shocking record calmly. "I was convicted of armed robbery and pardoned. I was granted amnesty on some 42 additional counts of armed robbery and other associated counts – breaking and entering, conspiracy to commit robbery, jailbreak, etc. I was found innocent of murder. Here. This will explain it." Heyes pulled his amnesty documents out of his new briefcase and put them on top of his new lawyer's legal pad.

Heyes tensed. Brown has remained incredibly cool so far, but this unmistakable revelation of exactly who his new client was would surely destroy that. Yet the young lawyer read through the formal documents with no show of recognition, much less surprise or fear.

"I see," Brown said at last, handing the papers back to Heyes without turning a hair. "You fear that your taking a new middle name might be interpreted as an attempt to hide your identity as a former felon or as being too close to an alias?"

"Yes. I would, of course, write to those four governors and to the senator who led the fight for our amnesty, before I took any other steps. But I wanted to consult you before I did that. There's no reason even to bother them if you think there's no hope for it. And, of course, when applying for any position or signing any contract, I would disclose my full name and my criminal record."

"Of course," said Brown. "What middle name would you like to take?"

"Joshua," said Heyes.

"Why Joshua?"

Heyes paused for an instant before he could speak. "It was my father's name. And it was the first name I used for my alias for the last seven and a half years while the . . . my partner, Jedediah Curry, and I were on the right side of the law and seeking amnesty. So I do worry that it might be seen as hiding behind an alias."

Brown's eyebrows went up skeptically, but he showed no other emotion. "Your fears may be justified, Mr. Heyes. Are you set on that name? Another would be easier."

"I know," said Heyes with a tinge of sadness, "I would prefer Joshua if possible. I answer to it as readily as to my own real name – really, more so. And it's the name I used when I was courting my wife. We just got married yesterday."

"I see. I would suggest that you go ahead and write to the governors and the senator, explaining to them as you did to me. Give them my name and address. If they have no serious objections, or you can address any objections, then you could go forward with legal action. There would be no guarantee, but I would guess that the approval of the men who granted your amnesty would weigh heavily with any judge. And equally, their disapproval could doom your application."

Heyes nodded. "Alright. I'll do that before my wife and I leave on your honeymoon."

Brown was still taking careful notes. "How long will you be gone, and where?"

"A week. In rural West Virginia. My wife's sister and her family live there. They run a hotel where we will be staying. I'll leave the address with you."

"Yes, please do that. I will be interested to see what response you get to the letters. I think that concludes our business for today, Mr. Heyes. Please speak to my secretary, Mr. Jewell, about your bill. Communicate with me as soon as you return to New York. And congratulations on your marriage." The two men shook hands.

Heyes talked to Beth about this meeting at her apartment, now their shared apartment, when he got back. "I worry about the guy. He's so young. He doesn't seem to understand who I really am. Or was. It was like he'd never heard of me."

"Is that so shocking?" Beth looked up from the letter she was writing to a friend who hadn't been able to come to their wedding.

"Yeah, it is. It's been years since I met a man or woman I could be sure hadn't heard of me. Seems like everybody in the country's heard of me. And heard bad things. You know. But this guy, I mean, what's wrong with him? He's not that young. He's American. If he's got good sense, why hasn't he heard of me? I'm going to him about my name and he doesn't get what the problem is with it. I didn't ask if he'd heard of me. I didn't want to sound proud of my dirty past. But it worries me." Heyes sounded more than worried. He sounded flustered.

"Heyes!" Beth laughed unkindly at her husband. "You're upset. You really are. You always say you want everyone to forget about you and the Kid, your past. You say you're ashamed of it. But now you meet someone who really has forgotten you, or who just doesn't get all excited about you, and you can't take it. He hurt your vanity! This young man met the great Hannibal Heyes and wasn't hero-worshipping him, and it really bothered you. And it still does."

"Oh, it does not! I just hope he understands the implications. If he doesn't know who I am and then he has to deal with people who do . . ."

Beth laughed at her husband. "Heyes, you silly man! He must have heard of you. You're right – everyone has. But he's no hero-worshipping boy. He's a professional. He's keeping this on a professional basis. And it bothers the heck out of you!"

"It does not!" Heyes snapped.

Beth grinned at him. "Oh yes, it does. Don't worry, honey. I think it's adorable."

Heyes glowered. "Adorable my foot! You think I'm vain."

"Oh, Heyes, darling. I'm no fool. I don't think you're vain. I know you're vain!" She kissed him to take the sting out of the remark. "You'd better learn to cope with people who don't kiss your feet. You're going into academia."


	3. Chapter 3

"It's nice to have an extra couple of days in New York before we go off to West Virginia to stay with Beth's sister's family," said Heyes to Charlie Homer as they ambled along a paved path in Union Square Park on a beautiful June afternoon. They were just two among many folks enjoying the lovely early summer weather. A trio of ragged children splashed happily in the grand fountain. "It's our family, now. Gosh, Family! Jed and I, we haven't had any family except each other in a long, long time."

"How do you like them?" wondered Charlie.

Heyes considered. "I don't really know, yet. Some of that family doesn't seem to like us much. Specially Corey, Beth's brother-in-law. Still, they did invite us. They're giving us a chance. I appreciate that. But Beth says we've got to wait a bit to head there, and that's fine with me. Gives us time to do a few things that need doing. And Barbara and Corey need a little time to get ready for us. I guess they'll tell their kids who we are. That has to be hard to say to little children. Don't want to scare them."

Charlie nodded. "At least the little ones should be easy – won't have heard of you yet. The baby will grow up knowing you before she hears about what other folks have to say about you."

The former outlaw was thoughtful. "But the oldest, the boy, he's eight. He'll have heard of us. We've been straight since he was a few months old. But then that stupid book came out, and all the stuff in the newspapers. He might not have read anything, but we don't know what he'll have heard on the playground."

Charlie nodded. "Or what his parents read in the papers. What they might have told him before, when they didn't know you'd be an in-law."

"Yeah or what they might be telling him now. No matter what Beth told Barbara and Corey, she has a lot of press blather to set straight. It's funny how our going into prison got headlines, but getting out and getting amnesty never seems to have gotten mentioned."

Charlie's furry grey eyebrows went up. "Not that funny really, Heyes. You know how long those politicians wormed out of giving you that amnesty for all those years. They don't want to look soft on crime. The four governors don't really have to deal with the amnesty until it makes the papers. And the longer it takes to come out, the less news it is and the less will be said about it. Good for you as well as for them, in some ways."

Heyes nodded. "Yeah. I wish I could keep the whole thing from the universities I'm applying to forever. I'd rather tell them the story myself instead of having the press mess it up."

"Heyes, do you really think they'll let you use the new middle name?" asked Charlie over his lemonade as the pair of westerners sat down on a bench under some trees where they could see the fountain with bright flowers around it.

"Don't know." Heyes wedged his cone of popcorn between his knees so it wouldn't spill. "I just hope it would help me to get in the door before those deans and University presidents slam it in my face. I know I can't keep my past a secret forever, but if I can just have a little chance on each interview before they realize who they're really dealing with."

"I hope it would work. It only has to work once, after all. The right once, of course." Charlie studied Heyes' face for a moment as the infamous former outlaw ate popcorn and pitched a couple of kernels onto the path for a squirrel and some pigeons to grab. More pigeons arrived, so Heyes added some more popcorn to the sidewalk. Yet more pigeons came, along with sparrows and another squirrel. Heyes laughed and emptied the half-eaten cone for them. "Enjoy, guys."

"You're a soft-hearted man, Hannibal Heyes," chuckled Charlie.

"Don't say that name so loud, you mind?" Heyes glanced around suspiciously, but there was not a living soul close enough to hear except Heyes, Charlie, and the greedily eating pigeons, sparrows, and squirrels. "I can't help remembering when the Kid and I were hungry and nobody would help. Guess it makes me a push-over now with any hard case."

Charlie looked skeptical. "But Heyes, you're awful hard on some folks. The press isn't the same as the law. Beth told me how rough you were with that poor little waiter at the Plaza – the one you got to send the message to me before you all headed my way. You shouldn't have frightened the boy like that. That could turn on you. The way you treat people does get around, even if you aren't some kind of celebrity, and worse if you are. Remember: the press won't kill you or lock you up like the law used to be looking to do."

Heyes snorted. "Don't be too sure of that. Time was, one word from the press would put the law on us. So it really was the same thing. Now, one wrong word could destroy my career. Or the lives of my friends. Including you. I was just plain scared when I put the screws to that little waiter. I was thinking what the press could do to your life, if they found out what you've done for me. 'Professor lies repeatedly to keep notorious outlaw at university.' Could've gotten you fired or worse. I know, I know, the President already knows all that. And the board. But I'm thinking of the publicity. The power of public opinion. It's a thing I have some experience with."

Charlie's voice hardened. "It's not worth being mean to somebody, Heyes. It really isn't."

Heyes shrugged. "I guess not. I did go back and thank the boy and pay him real good. And the guy who carried the message to you. They probably both blew it getting drunk like I would've at that age.

But seriously, Charlie - I just keep wondering when the press is going to get onto me at last. Me and Beth and the Kid and Cat. And maybe you and God knows who else. It was a narrow escape at the Plaza. We shouldn't have taken Buffalo Bill up on dinner. The Kid shouldn't have shot against that guy in public. We shouldn't have let Big Jim move us to the Plaza – not that he left us much choice. We messed it up over and over. I messed it up. It's a wonder there aren't reporters all over us right now." Heyes leaned his head on his hand and studied the scampering squirrels.

Charlie looked at his prize student with a measure of pity in his eyes. "You're going to have to make your peace with the press one of these days, you know."

Heyes watched the birds and squirrels as they ate with frantic haste. "I guess so. But I don't know how. I hate reporters. I'm also scared stiff of them."

Charlie laughed and cited a fictitious headline, "Ferocious outlaw confesses, the only thing he's afraid of is reporters!"

"That's not the only thing," said Heyes softly, watching the squirrels skip away and vanish into the trees.

"You want to tell me what else?"

"No." Heyes kept looking pointedly away from his mentor.

Charlie could see that the subject was over, so he asked. "Where's Jed this morning? And where are Beth and Cat? I thought you newlywed couples would be spending every minute together."

"We are, within reason. But this morning, Jed's taking Cat shopping and Beth went along. There's so much you can get in New York that you can't get out West, you know. Married ladies dress different than unmarried ladies, or so they tell me. And ladies who are expecting need different duds, yet. I feel for Jed. Can't stand shopping with ladies myself. I don't have a dime, anyhow. But tell me, why'd you ask me to meet you here?"

"I needed to get out and I know you did, too. But there's more to it. Has to do with where we aren't – as in at Columbia. And I know you're avoiding my place – still worrying over the press. Here comes the answer now," said Charlie, nodding toward three men walking in their direction with big smiles on their faces. It was Heyes' best Columbia friends - Ev Carter, Paul Huxtable, and Neal George. Neal had a long, narrow cardboard box in his hand with a big Colombia-blue bow around it.

"Hi, Charlie. Hello, Heyes." said Ev, with his eyes shining. "We got something for you, Heyes. Little belated graduation present. Give it to him, NG."

"Yeah, sorry it took a while to get ready," said NG as he handed the box to Heyes.

"You changed up on us, so we had to do two different kinds," said fiery-haired Huxtable with his boyish grin.

"Well, I got to get this thing opened – you got me all curious," said Heyes eagerly, although the particular shape and size of the box told him a lot. He slid the bow off the box and pulled the lid off. He grinned widely as he looked inside. He pulled out one of a stack of neatly printed calling cards and showed it to Charlie. It said, "H. Joshua Heyes, B.A., S.C.L, M.A., Columbia University/ Mathematician: trigonometry and applied mathematics specialties." Then it gave Heyes' new address at the apartment he and Beth had taken. There was a handsome tiny illustration of a crossed quill and a stick of dynamite at the bottom with a pistol below it – an apt symbol of a mathematician specializing in trigonometry about explosives and ballistics. The top card from the stack next to it was just the same except for one part of the name.

Heyes was delighted. "Wow, guys, thanks! I really love the picture. Suits me perfectly. And you even got me ones with Joshua and without so I'll be ready no matter what the judge says about my name. I sure do appreciate that. But it says telephone at the bottom and gives a number. Beth and I don't have a telephone. We can't afford it."

Ev said, "Your land lady does have one. She said she'd be glad to have you use it if you need to while you're applying for positions and stuff. She still a little nervous about having Hannibal Heyes in her building, but she's a nice lady. She's glad to encourage you in lawful ways. Like getting a job."

"That's real nice of her. I'll do my best on the job, guys. The cards will be a real help. This is mighty nice of you. I was dreading going into a printing shop and trying to explain what I wanted and why."

"I printed them myself on my little card press," said NG shyly, "I tried not to get inky fingerprints all over them. Betsy drew the illustration and I got a friend who's a wood engraver for _Harper's_ to cut it in boxwood."

"Aw, NG, you're the best. You and Betsy, both. They look just perfect to me," said Heyes.

"What do you have the briefcase along for, Heyes?" asked Huxtable, noticing the new brown leather case by the former outlaw's feet.

Heyes touched the elegant case he had wanted for so long. "I got to go to campus and pick up some copies of my transcripts. Charlie says they should be ready with my real name on them by now. Can't do applications without them."

His three Columbian student friends exchanged uneasy glances. "What is it, boys?" asked Heyes with trepidation. There was an awkward pause while each of his three close friends seemed to want one of the others to speak first.

Heyes took a canny guess. "Don't tell me – word on my real name is getting around at school?"

"Getting? It's gotten," said Ev.

"I don't know who put out the word – maybe one of those undergrads who testified at your graduation hearing. Whoever it was, it got around quick as wild fire," added NG.

"People do find you pretty interesting," chimed in Huxtable.

"Great. Just great," said Heyes, sounding thoroughly dejected. "And I don't suppose everybody's as understanding as you guys."

There was another uneasy silence. "No," said Neal George at last. "Not exactly. So watch yourself, J . . . Heyes."

The retired outlaw grimaced. "I will. Thanks for the warning. And the cards." He slid the box of calling cards carefully into his briefcase, keeping aside a few of the ones without the name Joshua on them to put in his wallet. "Well, no time like the present. I might as well get it over with. Anybody going Columbia way?"

"Sure," said Huxtable. "I'm teaching summer school this afternoon. Might as well go over early with you."

"I'm getting lunch with Betsy on the West side," said Ev. "So I'll see you later, guys."

"And I've got work to do at the printer," said NG. "Bye, Heyes, Huxtable, Ev, Professor Homer."

"Bye, guys," said Heyes. "Bye, Charlie."

"Bye, Heyes," responded his old adviser, who seemed pleased to stay alone on his bench. "Be careful. And try to be understanding. That name of yours is hard on folks who thought they knew you."

"I know, I know!" moaned Heyes. "I've been thinking of writing a memoir – to undercut that creep Basil Birch. I'm thinking I'd call it 'My name is Hannibal Heyes.' I'm getting mighty sick of saying that to people over and over and seeing the reactions. Starting to make me self-conscious. Strange to think the Kid and I used to enjoy introducing ourselves to people."

"Huh? Didn't you keep your names secret?" asked Huxtable.

Heyes shook his head regretfully. "Not in the old days before we went straight. Got a charge out of telling train conductors who was holding them up. The Kid's name used to immobilize 'em so well he hardly needed to draw. We were a strutting pair of creeps in those days, I'm afraid. Learned better long ago – the hard way."

Huxtable stared in silence at his friend as they walked. Hannibal Heyes had come a long way. Sometimes young Paul Huxtable forget just how long until his friend reminded him.

As they got to campus, Huxtable said, "I've got to get to the campus printer to pick up some stuff for class, Heyes. See you later."

Heyes answered, "Sure, see you, Missouri. And thanks again for the cards. They make me feel like a real professional academic."

"But that's what you are, Kansas," said the retreating Huxtable.

As Heyes walked up to the office building where the records office was, he began to feel uneasy. A little group of young students was standing on the sidewalk near the door talking. As the westerner approached them, a young man in the group who had been in one of Joshua Smith's classes turned to see him. Heyes heard his real name spoken. The group on the sidewalk suddenly fell silent. Every eye was trained on the former Joshua Smith. The students' heads swiveled to follow him with open-mouthed curiosity. As Heyes began to climb the stairs toward the building's grand front door, a student he had seen around school but whom he didn't actually know by name was going down the stairs. The slender young man stared uneasily at the former outlaw and kept to the far side of the stairs from where Heyes was going up. Heyes tried to smile at him, but it didn't help. The guy just sidled away all the more before hurrying down the street. The young man didn't look frightened, exactly. He just looked nervous.

Heyes went down the echoing hall at a fast walk with his new briefcase swinging at his side. He wanted to get this over as fast as possible. He didn't relish explaining himself to lots of people and being stared at like a sideshow freak. A fellow math graduate student who had been in a class or two with Joshua Smith without getting any more friendly than any other classmate was going down the hall in the other direction. Heyes waved at him and the man started to wave back. Then as the two men passed in the hall, the student suddenly started and stared hard at Heyes. The word sure had gotten out.

Heyes went to the office of the registrar. There were two clerks in the outer office, one for graduate records and one for under-graduate. The neatly-dressed young woman at the desk nearest door, the graduate desk, looked up brightly up at the dark-haired man with the briefcase. The clerk wasn't someone the new graduate had seen before, but he knew that wouldn't help him much, considering what he was there for. "What can I do for you, sir?" she asked.

"I'm here to pick up ten copies I ordered of my transcripts. Here's the money for them – a dollar each, right?" Heyes tried to sound casual as he slid the ten dollar bill across the desk. The face of General Sheridan on the bill seemed to stare accusingly back at him. How many tens and twenties and fifties and hundreds had Heyes stolen in his day? And now the thief dared to pass himself off as an honest man?

The clerk smiled at the nice looking new graduate. "Yes, sir. That's right. Ten dollars total. Thank you. Here's your receipt – if you can please fill in your name and class. Then I'll get the transcripts for you."

Heyes tried not to sweat as he printed "Heyes, Hannibal, M.A., Columbia College, 1891," in the blanks on the form.

"What name . . . ?" the clerk's cheerful voice trailed off as she saw the name on the form and the flowing signature beneath it reading "Hannibal Heyes." She looked up at Heyes with something approaching terror in her wide, blue eyes. She pulled away from him as if evil might somehow be transmitted through the air from one being to another.

Heyes smiled at the clerk as well as he could, though he couldn't manage it for more than a couple of seconds and it wasn't much of a smile. "It's alright, Miss. I won't . . ."

The clerk got up and retreated to the back of the office. Heyes honestly wondered if she might call the police on him from the telephone in the back of the room. Instead, the young clerk went through a door marked "records." Minutes went past. Heyes stood awkwardly by the desk, with his hands in his pockets, while the middle-aged woman at the next desk turned to look at him and then nervously down at the papers in front of her. Heyes was sure he heard animated whispering from the records office, though he couldn't hear what was said. He would have laid money that his name was the chief topic of conversation.

Finally, the graduate records clerk returned with a neat stack of ten envelopes tied together with cotton string. "Here you are . . . sir," said the clerk in a strained voice. She pulled her hand back quickly before Heyes' hand could get near it.

"Thank you, miss," said Heyes. "Honestly, I'm just a mathematician now. I don't bite. I use a slide rule, not a gun." His smile was not returned. Heyes slide the envelopes into his briefcase, fastened the clasp, and turned away.

As Heyes went back down the hall, he saw young blonde Honus Messersmith coming up the hall. Honus, nick-named Hans, had been one of Heyes' fellow teaching assistants during the previous semester. He had been a staunch supporter when Joshua Smith stepped in to teach for Charlie Homer at the end of the semester while Marie was dying. "Hey, Hans," called Heyes happily. Surely this was one person who would be friendly?

But no, Heyes' former colleague glared furiously at him. "Hans, come on, man . . ." started the former outlaw. But the young man who had been his friend turned away and did not slow down as he hurried along the hall without speaking. Heyes didn't have the heart to try to follow him. He was afraid that there would be nothing he could say that would change the young man's attitude.

Heyes could only think of how, when he had been arrested in Central Park, he had apologized to the friends there for "all the lies." The line had even been cited by the prosecuting attorney at his much-publicized murder trial. He had no doubt that it was the lies that had hurt Hans so badly. Heyes had lied to protect himself and for a long time it had worked, at least in part. Now the protection was gone. Now he had to pay for all those years of deception.

For a wonder, Heyes was able to get out of the building and a block down the street without encountering any more hostile or even curious or frightened students. But just as Heyes was about to cross the street to escape campus, he found his path blocked by the tall blonde Aldous Clarksdale. The elegantly dressed son of a powerful business man was known to his cliquish friends as Aldy. Clarksdale had been one of the most arrogant and aristocratic of the students who had done his best to make Joshua Smith's life miserable for the last five years. It was his friends who had tied up Huxtable and Heyes and left them in a dark basement just before an exam. Clarksdale had been a keen and pushy rival of the slender westerner ever since Smith had sat in with that first geometry class. It was Clarksdale whom Heyes had planted on the sidewalk with a now famous punch when the boy and his pals had tried to beat up the still nearly silent Joshua Smith.

Clarksdale was absolutely the last man Heyes wanted to meet. The obnoxious newly graduated mathematician was a good five inches taller than Heyes. Now, five years after their first run in, Clarksdale was much stronger and heavier than he had been when Heyes had been able to deck him. Heyes, by contrast, had gotten positively skinny in these last stressful weeks. Clarksdale now probably outweighed his western rival by at least fifty pounds. Heyes was not eager to trade blows with the man. The last thing he needed on an academic interview was a black eye or a broken nose.

"Hey, cowboy, where you going with that briefcase?" asked Clarksdale in his most superior and grating voice.

Heyes bristled. "Out of here, Clarksdale. Graduated and gone. Just be a mensch and let me go, would you?"

Clarksdale planted himself across the sidewalk, arms crossed over his broad chest. "No, Hannibal Heyes, I won't let you go before we have a little talk."

Clarksdale knew, too. A furious string of obscenities ran through Heyes' head, but he stayed calm on the outside. "Yeah, city boy, I used to make my living opening safes. Been straight a long time. What's it to you? Just get outta my way."

Clarksdale wasn't backing down. "So it's true. All the time you were at Columbia, you were wanted dead or alive? They could've hauled you away to prison any time?"

Heyes hated looking up that far at another man like he had to with Clarksdale, who was a good six foot five – more than six inches taller than Heyes. It made the former outlaw resentful and combative. "Yeah, or shot me and turned in the meat. In fact, they did take me off and try me – found me innocent of murder. I did kill the guy, but it was self-defense."

"Yeah, I heard about that. And then they found you guilty of armed robbery and put you in prison, didn't they?" Clarksdale seemed to take some satisfaction in his old opponent's defeat on that score.

"Yeah." Heyes felt like he was back in the street of some western town facing off with a bullying rival gang leader.

"So what are you doing out?" The big blonde looked seriously curious. He could see that there was a good story here.

"Got amnesty. The Kid and I've been working for that a long, long time." Heyes tried to vain to keep this discussion short.

Clarksdale grinned. "Congratulations!"

Heyes was utterly taken aback. "Huh? Um, thanks."

Having ferreted out some of the story, Aldy Clarksdale wanted more. "And that time you were limping in the spring semester, you said you fell off your horse. Is that what happened?"

"No, Clarksdale. I got shot in the hip. Couldn't exactly tell people in New York that the Teasdale brothers were after the Kid and me. What do you care?" Heyes was puzzled by questions and had some of his own.

Clarksdale side-stepped the query as he continued his own investigation. "Why were they after you?"

"'Cause the Kid and I stopped them from murdering some guys."

"You stopped a murder? How?" Clarksdale was impressed, but skeptical.

"The Kid and I ordered the Teasdales off – out of the Kid's place – his saloon - in Colorado."

Now Clarksdale really had a hard time believing the words of this famous liar. "Just like that? You said go and they went?"

"Well, we did have cocked Colts in our hands at the time. And even you easterners seem to know the Kid's reputation with a gun. Westerners know it a whole lot better."

"But the Teasdale Brothers had guns, too, didn't they?"

"Of course."

"Hm. Did Kid Curry come for your graduation?"

"He did. But he ain't behind me with his Colt now, so you don't have to be afraid. Just get outta my way, boy."

"And they said you got shot in the head and had to learn how to talk and write all over again before you started at Columbia. That true? So that's why you didn't talk much? That's what they say."

"Yeah. I had aphasia. Still do, some. Who's they saying all this?"

Clarksdale, hot on the trail of the truth on a campus filled with rumors, ignored the question. "So you went from blowing open safes to getting shot in the head to studying math at Columbia? How in God's name did you do it?" The admiration was plain in his voice.

"Hard work. Hard work and good friends. Please just clear out and let me go." Heyes was totally flummoxed by what was going on. Clarksdale had every tool he needed to make Heyes' life a misery to him and he wasn't using them. Maybe, Heyes figured, he should stop dismissing the young man, who was a pretty impressive mathematician in his own right. Clarksdale actually seemed to be acting decently, for once.

"Hannibal, I believe what you say. You're famous for lying, but you're telling the truth now. You got my respect." The big blonde aristocrat extended his hand. Heyes, unsuccessfully resisting a grin of sheer satisfaction, took his old rival's hand.

"Heyes, Clarksdale, just Heyes."

"Then congratulations, Heyes. And good luck!"

"Thanks, Aldy. Same to you. I'll be glad to see you around the field." To think that Heyes would ever be glad to see Aldy Clarksdale. Well, maybe he was stretching things a bit – just to be polite.

But Heyes did have something very true to say to this old rival. "Aldy, I'm glad to get a chance to set you straight. But could you do me a favor? I've been getting some pretty frightened looks from people on campus. Nobody needs to be afraid of me. Really. If anybody asks you, could you please tell them that? The Kid and I don't hurt people. We always tried not to. Everybody out West knows that, but the word doesn't seem to have gotten east yet. We're just trying to be good citizens on the right side of the law, now. Jed – the Kid – he just got made a sheriff. And I just want to teach some math. If you can help the truth get out, I'd be in your debt."

"Sure thing, Heyes. You don't owe me a thing. We never have gotten along, but I wanted the truth. You can't blame guys for being nervous about you when all they know is rumors. There are some pretty awful stories out there about you – stealing, lying, killing. I didn't believe a lot of it. I just wanted to know the truth – and so does everyone else."

"I guess you're right. I appreciate it. There were a lot of lies, before. I admit it. I try to stick to the truth, now. The Kid and I did used to steal, of course. We stole over $800,000. But we haven't stolen anything in seven and a half years. And we won't."

"Heyes, you ought to think about telling your story to the press."

"No way, Aldy. They print nothing but lies. I ought to know."

The blonde aristocrat tried not to push so hard, but he wasn't giving up. "Maybe if you pick the right reporter?"

But Heyes was adamant on his side. He'd been burned too many times. "No! There is no right reporter."

"Have it your way. My uncle owns a paper, and I minored in journalism myself, so maybe I'm prejudiced. Just think about it."

"I'll think. See you later, Aldy."

"See you, Heyes.

When Heyes told the story to Beth at dinner that evening, she asked, "So the notorious Aldy Clarksdale has turned into a decent guy? What do you suppose happened?"

Heyes thought for a moment. "It's been five years. I guess he grew up. I guess he could ask the same question about me. And get about the same answer. I just took a lot longer doing it."


	4. Chapter 4

Beth, Cat, and a package-laden Kid Curry were laughing as they walked along the lower stretch of Fifth Avenue past expensive shops and finely dressed ladies and gentlemen. "You ladies got all you need?" asked Jed Curry hopefully.

"I don't know about what we need, or want - but all we can afford," said Cat. She gave the Kid a peck on the cheek. "Thank you, honey. I'll feel elegant for years to come, pregnant or not."

"I'm done," added Beth. "When Heyes sees the bill for that new dress, I might be done in more ways than one."

"Oh, come on, Beth!" said Cat. "If he wants to complain about one little dress, he's nuts. And besides, you're paying all the bills."

Beth sighed. "I know. That's what drives him crazy. That and being so far in debt because of his clinic bills, schooling, and legal bills. The pressure – knowing all those people who gave him money believe in him and that he has to have a job before he can even start to pay them back –it's just destroying him. But I can't go naked till we pay it off."

"Beth, is Heyes alright?" asked Cat. "Between all our celebrations – the graduation, Jed getting to be a sheriff, and our weddings – it's easy to forget what hard stuff he's up against.

Beth looked grim. "He's really worried, I can't deny it. He's starting on applications already – especially Harvard. He's off picking up transcripts for those applications right now. But it's no worse than what Jed will be facing back in Colorado. Teaching's sure a lot less dangerous than being a sheriff." said Beth.

"I can handle it, Beth. Don't you worry," started Curry. But then he was interrupted.

"Sheriff?" asked a voice from behind the three shoppers. Instantly, the packages were on the sidewalk and Kid Curry had spun around to see the man speaking to him. With his right hand on the grip of a rather poorly hidden pistol, he found himself facing a grizzled man in a worn suit and a battered straw boater.

Realizing that he was reacting like an outlaw on a dusty street out west, not like a regular guy on a sidewalk in New York, Curry felt a bit sheepish. "Yeah?" he said, leaving the bags of clothing sitting on the sidewalk.

The stranger was obviously intimidated by the intense gaze of those famous icy blue eye, even if he didn't know whose they were. "Um. So that was you putting on that shooting demonstration at Buffalo Bill's show the other day, wasn't it?" The man's accent combined New York and someplace much farther west.

"Yeah," said Curry with nearly as much question in his voice. He relaxed some, but remained on his guard.

"Impressive!" said the stranger. "Haven't seen shooting like that since I left Wyoming Territory a lot of years ago. I surely do admire your skill. Pardon me for disturbing you, sir, ladies. I just wanted to say thanks for the great exhibition." The stranger tipped his hat and studied the man before him. He helped Curry to pick up the packages he had dropped. Fortunately, there was nothing breakable in any of them.

"Thanks," said Curry with a grin. "So you're from Wyoming?" Seeing that the men were likely to be talking for a while, the ladies found a nearby bench and sat down. Curry took a few steps to stay protectively close to them.

There was a far-away look on the stranger's face. "Yeah. I was born near Cheyenne. You, too?"

Curry shook his head. "No, not born there, but spent a lot of years there. Wasn't near Cheyenne, though. Lived out in the middle of no place."

The Wyoming man grinned. "Well, that's most of the territory – or state, these days. What's your name, sheriff?"

Curry tensed out of long habit. "Who's asking?"

The man said, quickly, "Brad Tomlin. I drive a cab. If you don't want to tell me . . ."

The Kid shrugged. "No problem. Name's Curry."

The cabby chuckled. He joked, "The way you shoot, must be a near relative of Kid Curry."

Curry started to laugh. "You could say that."

"Really?" the cabby was impressed. "Too bad him getting thrown in prison. Think he'll ever get out?"

"Just got out. Got amnesty, me and Heyes. Nice to meet you, Mr. Tomlin." Curry reached out to shake the man's hand. "But the ladies and me, we got to be on our way."

The cabby was stunned. "Pardon me, you mean you are Kid Curry?"

"Yeah. Can't keep it from a fellow Wyoming man." The kid winked at the cabby, trying to put him at ease.

Tomlin was in awe. "Wow! No wonder you shoot so good! You guys got out and got amnesty? I haven't seen it in the news, but I'm real glad to hear it."

The Kid was taken aback to have a stranger care about him that way. "Yeah. Ain't hit the papers, yet. Just as glad about that. You ain't press?"

"No, Mr. Curry. Like I said, I drive a cab. Congratulations on the amnesty. And getting the star. Hope things go well for you and your partner. Where is Heyes?"

"My husband is running errands," said Beth. "And we need to go meet him, Mr. Tomlin."

The cab drive tipped his hat again. "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Heyes. Best to you and your husband. And Mrs. Curry."

"Thank you," said Beth as she expertly hailed a cab and the three of them climbed in.

"You've got fans, Kid!" grinned Cat as the cab pulled away.

Curry smiled. "Yeah. Who'd have thought? I hope he don't cause trouble. Sure was nice to see a guy from Wyoming. Seems like I've been out east forever."

"Do you miss all those wide open spaces, Jed?" ask Beth.

Jed looked out the cab window at the tall buildings they were passing. "Yeah, I do. Don't get me wrong – I'm real glad to be here with you and Heyes. But it ain't like home." Cat took her husband's hand. She knew well that Curry had not really had a home until he had gotten to Christy's place – which was theirs together now.

Once they had dropped off their purchases at Jed and Cat's hotel and at the Heyes' apartment, the trio went to meet Heyes at a little local deli. He had dropped off his transcripts at the apartment earlier and now had a package with him that contained his gun and holster. "Yeah, I've set up a good afternoon for us, Kid. A lot more fun than either of us had this morning." Cat and Beth pretended to look offended at this, but they understood.

"What's that, Heyes?" The Kid looked skeptical, but his eyes were starting to sparkle. "You said it's fun, but you asked me to bring my Colt. Something dangerous?" Danger and the Kid, of course, were old friends.

Heyes chuckled at Jed. "Not for you, partner. Remember that upper-crusty friend of mine we went riding with in Central Park about two weeks ago, Arthur Wainwright?"

"Course. Snobby, but he can ride. And he likes you for some reason, Heyes. We thought it'd be fun to go out to that shooting range where he practices – show off to those easterners. We never yet got out there. That what you got in mind, Heyes?" The Kid was grinning at the thought.

Heyes winked at his partner. "That's exactly what I've got in mind. We both need to keep in practice, but especially you. How many days has it been now, other than that one load at Buffalo Bill's show?"

The Kid started counting on his fingers, but soon gave it up. "I've lost track, Heyes. Too long. Hope I'm not too rusty to shoot good."

"Let's go find out, Jed, after we drop off the ladies," said Heyes.

"Aw, we don't get to come?" asked Cat in frustration. But she wasn't surprised. "What is it with Easterners? They never want women to do anything fun."

"Well, there are some enjoyable activities we get to participate in, even in New York," said Beth, running a suggestive hand down her husband's shoulder. Heyes smiled and leaned into the caress.

Not much more than an hour later, Heyes and Jed were riding with Wainwright in his surrey into the New Jersey countryside near Manhattan. "I can't wait to see how the guys out at the range react when they see you shoot, Mr. Curry," said Wainwright happily. "They won't believe it."

"Now you're makin' me nervous, Wainwright," said Curry. "It's been weeks since I drew 'cept just six shots at that show. Mostly, I shoot every day that dawns. Now I'm terrible out of practice. There's just no place to shoot in New York and they sure didn't let a prisoner in the Wyoming State Pen have a gun. Least I've kept my Colt clean and oiled, when I could get to it. And Cat did it when I couldn't."

Heyes was planning. "Let's keep the Kid's name from them until after he shoots, alright? I mean, don't lie, Wainwright – just try to duck saying the name. Or the Kid part, anyhow. Nobody ever knows Jedediah Curry. Pardon me, Kid, you know what I mean. But that means you can't give them my real name either, or it'll give it away. We can't legally use our old aliases, but it'll be so much more fun to spring it on them. That is, unless you already told them?"

Wainwright sounded as excited as a little boy. "No, Heyes, I thought it would be more fun to have you guys show up unheralded. But I did just kind of mention that I was going to bring some friends today who were pretty good. Don't want people to miss the show, Mr. Curry."

"Alright, Arthur, alight," sighed Curry. "And just call me Jed, please."

"Sure, Jed. Oh, I can't wait!" Wainwright shook the reins and hurried his horse on his way through the grand gate of the stone-walled sports club.

"Stop worrying, Jed," said Heyes in a low voice. "You could beat any of these guys in your sleep. They think I'm good."

The Kid replied, "You are good, Heyes. You just ain't . . ."

"In your league or anything like it. And never was." Heyes took the greatest pride in his partner's talents.

But the Kid looked down. "Remember that time I was so sick when we'd just joined up with the Holbern bunch? That's the last time I went this long without a gun in my hand, or enough to count. On the job we pulled when I got back, that skinny little deputy outdrew me. If he hadn't just plain missed, I'd have died then and there."

"Kid, you were just a boy then . . . " But the surrey was pulling up at the clubhouse The Kid was going to have to perform or be shamed in front of whoever Wainwright had gotten to come.

"Hello, Bunter!" said Heyes happily to the man in charge of the guns as they got to the lock. "I brought my own Colt today. And this is my friend Jed Curry, who brought his own, too."

"I'll try a Colt today, too," said Wainwright.

The aging British retired Sargent smiled at the enthusiastic young American as he buckled on the gun belt. "I understand some friends of yours are waiting at the range, Mr. Wainwright. Perhaps I had better come along to keep order?"

"And to watch the fun," said Wainwright with a little smile. "Of course."

Bunter was looking curiously at the Kid's carefully customized Colt as they walked out to the outdoor range. When they got out to the range, a dozen young men in suits were waiting for them. Wainwright rattled off their names, but not even Heyes could remember them all. Among them was one older man – a tall, lean, greying man with a scared face and a long, curling mustache. Bunter introduced the man, to the delight of Wainwright's crowd of friends. "I hope you don't mind that I asked a friend of mine to join us, since he's in town and needs some practice. This is Colonel Holtz Durer, retired from the German army. He's an international champion marksman. Colonel Durer, meet Mr. Curry, and Mr. Smith."

The German gave a crisp nod and extended his hand. Heyes blushed as he held up a hand to block the offered shake. "I'm sorry, Bunter, but I can't permit you to introduce me that way. Smith was an alias that I can't legally use any longer. My name is Heyes. Colonel Durer?"

The German smiled and his blue eyes shone brilliantly as he spoke in his heavy accent. "Heyes and Curry? Then friends, you must be Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry, surely! An honor, gentlemen." The German clicked his heels and extended his hand. Bunter's jaw dropped and gasps came from Wainwright's friends.

"Yeah, Colonel," said the Kid, extending his hand. "My name's Jed Curry and this is my partner, Hannibal Heyes."

"Four governors gave them amnesty and let them out of prison," explained Wainwright, over the thrilled whisperings of his friends. "Now the Kid's a sheriff in Colorado and Heyes is going to teach college mathematics."

The Kid held up a hand to deflect the excited questions of the gathered men. He said apologetically. "Sorry to say, I'm in real bad shootin' practice. Heyes, is, too. Too long on trial and in prison and hanging around New York with no place to shoot. I haven't had a gun in my hand for weeks, 'cept for a few seconds at the wild West show."

"I heard about that. You beat the champion handily, Mr. Curry!" said a young, blonde friend of Wainwright's.

Curry shrugged. "He was a replacement. Not a real high standard. So, guys, can I shoot a few loads before I face off with anybody? I surely would appreciate it."

"Of course, Sheriff," said Bunter, delighted at the opportunity to watch so famous a marksman. "Do you object, Colonel?"

The Colonel shook his head, "Of course not, Sheriff Curry, Professor Heyes. I have just shot some rounds myself. We must be fair."

"You ought to see him!" one of Wainwright's friends said to him softly. "That German can shoot faster and more accurately than anyone I've ever seen in my life. If he's any indication, I hope we never have to fight against the German army."

The Kid gave Wainwright a few pointers with the Colt while the wealthy young man trained the heavy weapon on the target. Wainwright was a good marksman and had some experience with a Colt already, so Heyes wasn't surprised to see his young friend group all of his shots within a couple of inches of the gold bull's eye. The target was set up 10 yards away.

Durer looked on and said to Heyes, "Your fast-draw, it is has not been done a lot in Germany. But I saw Colonel Cody's Wild West show once a few years ago. Very interesting! I've practiced ever since as a kind of hobby, as they say, in my retirement. I think myself not too bad. I have faced a few Americans here and in Europe – including, I am proud to say, Colonel Cody himself."

The Kid walked over to Durer, curiously. "Can I ask, Colonel, did you beat Cody?"

Durer smiled, bringing out the dark saber scar on his cheek. "Yes, sir, I beat Cody at this same range a few days ago. And his champion – the man you beat, Sheriff Curry. I beat him, too. He is fair, I think, but very young."

"So, you want to try it?" asked the Kid.

"I would not miss the opportunity of facing so great a champion. I will surely learn much." Said Durer gallantly. "And you must participate, Professor Heyes. Mr. Bunter tells me that you are a fine marksman and very swift on the draw." Wainwright and his crowd of friends were listening avidly to this exchange.

"No!" said Heyes emphatically, facing away from the target with his arms crossed over his chest. "I don't mean to be rude, Colonel, but I haven't shot against my partner since we were boys. It's a rule with me – never shoot against the Kid. He'd beat me so bad, it wouldn't even be funny."

"Then why did you bring your Colt, Heyes?" asked Wainwright.

Heyes' eyes flared angrily. "To get some practice, which I sure need. Not to compete. Wainwright, the Kid doesn't shoot against me – he shoots for me."

The Kid shook his head placidly. "No, Heyes. I don't shook for anybody but the law, now. Come on, old man, why don't you try it?"

"I'll get you for that old man crack, Kid! As if two years between us made you a spring chick. And thanks for turning on your partner while everybody's watching. You know you and Durer will both drub me but good."

But Heyes looked at his partner and saw that Curry really did want Heyes to compete for some reason. Was the Kid truly so badly out of practice that he wanted Heyes included so he wouldn't finish dead last? Neither the Kid nor Heyes was getting any younger. Fast draw was a young man's sport. Not that Durer was any younger than 40. Heyes started to sweat. A shooting match and the pride involved was one thing. The danger the Kid would soon be in out west as a new sheriff was quite another. The one was only rehearsal for the other.

Curry wouldn't leave his partner alone. "Come on, Heyes, I know you're better than you used to be when you depended on me. I'd like to see how good you are, now." His voice got softer and he fixed Heyes with a keen gaze. "I might need to know."

"Oh, alright, Kid! Just this once. Just to accommodate our German guest. Never again," Heyes fumed, "You got that? I'm going to be a professor – I need to be dignified."

"Dignified, yes, but manly, surely," prodded Colonel Durer. "All of my professors at the academy could shoot."

The Kid looked skeptically at the range. "That a long enough shot for you, Durer?" he asked.

"It is about the distance I am accustomed to, Sheriff. Perhaps it is a bit short," answered the German. "I am accustomed to shooting the fast-draw at ten meters."

"What's a meter?" asked the Kid.

"One point oh nine three six one yards," answered Heyes promptly.

"Huh?" his partner was not used to the barrage of digits.

Heyes explained patiently, "A meter is a little more than a yard, Jed. 10 meters is nearly 11 yards. We might ask them to put the target back to 11 yards or even 12. It would be a bit longer than what the Colonel is used to, but it would be a better distance for you and me. More like where men stand in the street. Not that there's any rule on that, of course." That set off a bunch of wide eyes and whispers among Wainwright and his young friends, as they realized how serious shooting had usually been in Curry's and Heyes' past. Heyes asked, "Would you mind that, Colonel?" The German readily agreed.

Bunter suggested, "Gentlemen, shall we do two matches of two men? It would be hard to judge a close contest with three shooting at once. And what about three shots each for fast draw and accuracy?"

"Sure," said the Kid. "I got no objection to that, though it's more shots that I usually get."

"Go ahead, embarrass me three times over, what do I care?" groaned Heyes.

"It is agreeable to me," said Colonel Durer.

Once Bunter had had the target moved back, the men took their practice shots. Heyes and Curry watched closely as the German shot a few rounds. He was fairly quick, for a foreigner, but far more impressively accurate. After a couple of shots where he was adjusting to the new distance, not one of his shots outside of the gold center of the target. Heyes and the Kid wondered how much the German was saving for the competition itself. He had to be faster than what he was showing, if he had beaten Cody's man.

Heyes practiced next. His first few shots, after so many weeks away from the range, were slow and a little wild. Then he settled down to the steady accuracy and quickness that Wainwright had seen so often.

But the man everyone there watched the most closely, of course, was Kid Curry. The whole crowd looked on silently, hardly breathing as he methodically loaded his famous Colt and set himself before the target. At first, Curry made no attempt at any draw. He just got used to the gun again, and to the distance and target. Soon he was steadily hitting in the gold bull's eye. Then he tried a few draws from the holster. His speed drew gasps, but Heyes knew that his partner was holding a good deal back. At least, he hoped he was.

Then Bunter lined up Durer and Heyes at targets next to each other. "Shall I give you a count of three?" asked Bunter in his crisp British accent.

"Sure," said Heyes with a quick grin. "I counted off for the Kid, once, when he and a guy we met had a shoot off. He didn't want to kill the man."

"But he won, yes?" asked Durer. Heyes only laughed.

The two men settled in before their respective targets and gave Bunter the nod that they were ready.

"One, two, three!" cried Bunter. There was hardly a pause before the bangs of the guns sounded, so close together that they were nearly one. The two shots were both in the gold. Heyes grinned. He had narrowly beaten Durer. Heyes knew that he had not faced Durer's best draw, nor shown his own best the first time around. There was a smattering of applause for his effort.

Bunter counted them off again. Again, the shots were so closely timed that they nearly blended. This time, Durer had won on time, although Heyes' shot was more nearly in the center of the bull's eye. So the pair was even.

"One, two, three!" Bunter counted again. Heyes hurried his shot and nearly caught Durer on time, but the German beat his draw again. Both shots were in the gold, but Heyes' was on the edge while Durer's was squarely in the center. The audience politely applauded.

"Fine shooting, Colonel," said Heyes as he shook the winner's hand. "You beat me fair and square."

Durer smiled under his impressive mustache. "If you are out of practice and considered not good in the West, Professor Heyes, the United States is a country of formidable marksmen."

The murmuring in the little crowd that stood behind the shooters died as they watched Durer and Curry line up. This was the main event. Even Bunter's voice sounded high with excitement as he said, "Ready, gentlemen?" Both men were sweating in the June heat. Curry used a polka-dotted bandanna to wipe his face before he nodded. Durer nodded, working the fingers of his gun hand.

Bunter counted them off, "One, two, three!" The shots rang out absolutely together, both hitting in the gold. "A tie!" shouted Bunter. Durer smiled uneasily. His shot had been his fastest yet, but this was not the speed he had expected to face. Heyes was sweating more than the Kid. He had never seen the Kid so slow in his life, when it counted. Did recent practice make that much difference? Or was the Kid really slipping at the age of 36? The blonde former outlaw's jaw was tense.

Bunter watched the two competitors carefully as he counted them off, "One, two, three!" There were two bangs this time, both were faster than the last time. While both shots centered the gold, the Kid's shot had gone on its way before Durer had quite gotten his gun level. This was more like it, but still way off of the form Heyes had usually seen from his partner. How much were both men saving for the final shot? Durer wiped his lined forehead with a white handkerchief.

Bunter gave the pair a little more time to prepare. Curry gestured nervously with his gun hand for the contest to go on.

"One, two, three!" shouted Bunter. The first shot seemed to sound before the final sound of Bunter's voice had faded. The Kid's bullet knocked the center out of the target before Durer's barrel was even free of his holster. Heyes smiled. Now that was the Kid he knew! The little crowd of young marksmen erupted in furious applause and whistles and yells as Curry holstered his smoking pistol with a flourish.

"Sheriff Curry," said Durer, shaking the winner's hand, "You were leading me on with those first two shots – as if I could ever beat you! I never saw a human being shoot so swiftly in my life. It seems impossible!"

"Well, I didn't want to embarrass a foreigner. It's not friendly," said Curry with a playful light in his blue eyes. Now Heyes knew why the Kid had wanted him to compete – so the stranger wouldn't finish dead last. Beating Hannibal Heyes left the foreign Colonel his dignity. Of course, what it did to Heyes was another matter.

"Sheriff Curry, that is the most amazing exhibition of shooting I have ever witnessed in forty years around guns!" exclaimed Bunter, shaking the man's hand. "To be that fast and in the gold every time."

"I never shot at a target like that before," admitted Curry.

"What!?" exclaimed Wainwright when he got over being dumbstruck. "You hit the gold every time and you've never even shot at a target before? What do you shoot at?"

"Cans, bottles, whatever I can get," said Curry.

"Oh, that's nothing," said Heyes. "Anybody got a silver dollar they wouldn't be too upset not to get back?"

"Aw, Heyes, I ain't up for that," said Curry, but without much conviction. One of Wainwright's handsomely garbed friends produced a silver dollar that he handed to Heyes. Heyes held it up so the crowd could see that the coin was in perfect condition.

The Kid wiped his gun slowly, giving it time to cool a bit. Then he loaded it carefully and looked at his partner. He didn't even need to nod. Heyes knew the look of Curry ready to go.

Heyes tossed the silver dollar high in the air and watched it flash in the sun against the bright blue sky as it rose in a graceful arc. Curry hadn't even drawn yet as the coin rose to its height. Then, suddenly, the Colt was out. The Kid hit the hammer three times in stunningly quick succession so the roar of his gun seemed almost continuous. The coin rang and spun back up into the air, where the Kid plugged it again, and yet again before it hit the earth. Heyes strolled across the grass to pick up the coin. He held it up for the young men to see the three nasty dints in the mangled silver dollar. "You really want that back, boy?"

The blushing young man stepped up to claim his property. "Are you kidding, Mr. Heyes? I wouldn't take $100 for that silver dollar!" He proudly shook Curry's hand. "That is amazing shooting, Sheriff Curry! It doesn't seem possible."

"Actually, don't try that at home," said Curry softly, "I had to work a bit on that gun or it would have jammed being shot three times that fast."

"Sheriff Curry," asked Bunter, "who taught you to shoot like that, and work on guns like that?"

"My pa," answered the Kid with a distant look. "But he died when I was 7. After that, it was that guy over there." He pointed to his partner.

"Tell me, Professor Heyes," said Colonel Durer, "Does Sheriff Curry usually save his best shot for last?"

"When we're serious out West, Colonel," said Heyes, "a man shoots only once. And it's not at a target." Every eye went to the handsome face of Kid Curry, from which the triumphant smile was fading.

My research for this chapter included watching the "Exploding Lighter" episode of _Mythbusters_. They test fast draw myths about Kid Curry – the real one.


	5. Chapter 5

"What's the big idea making me shoot against that guy? He's a champion. You knew I'd lose." whispered Heyes to the Kid as the shooters and the audience were walking back toward the clubhouse.

Curry spoke quietly back to his partner. "He's German. Don't you like Germans? Don't you write to German professors about your math stuff? Don't you want the chance to make friends with a real German up close?" Heyes could tell that the Kid wasn't saying what he really meant, but only the fraction that he could easily put into words in front of folks. That was common enough. They'd work it out later, as usual. Heyes had a feeling that the Kid had a message for him, and it had nothing to do with Germans.

"Yeah, I write to Germans and guys who speak German a lot. But it doesn't mean I want to be friends with everybody who happens to be German. They're millions of 'em, you know. I haven't even written to any of my German or French or British professor friends yet to tell them who I really am. They'll probably all desert me."

Curry urged his friend, "Ain't you gonna talk German to the Colonel, Heyes? I'd like to hear you."

"If you insist, Sheriff," kidded Heyes with a grin. "I mostly write, so I've got time to think about it and use a dictionary. I'm no good talking – it's too fast. But I'll try."

Heyes walked up beside Colonel Durer, who has just left off talking to Bunter. The aspiring professor spoke softly and slowly, almost like he had when he had first been back to speaking English, "Entshuldigen sie mich, Oberst Durer . . ."

The Colonel was startled. "Was? Sprechen sie Deutch, Herr Professor?"

Heyes gained confidence as he spoke this language that he had previously used only on paper and in the classroom, "Ja, ich spreche nur ein bisschen Deutch. Ich entspreche Deutschen Professoren – und Österrischen – und Schweitzeren."

"Professor Heyes, sie sind zu bescheiden." Then the German switched back into English, aware that a long conversation in German would be rude to those around them who didn't speak the language. Curry was listening with open curiosity. "Really, you are too modest. I would say that you have more than only a little German if you correspond with professors in all those German-speaking countries! But your accent – are you Jewish?"

Heyes laughed. "Nein, aber ich spriche Yiddisch." Then the American, too, switched back into English. "I used to live on Hester Street – the Jewish quarter in New York. I learned some Yiddish before I could even speak much English. It helped me to pick up German for my mathematics correspondence, but I guess it gives me a funny accent."

The Colonel was thoroughly puzzled, as were Wainwright's friends. Durer asked, "I beg your pardon? Professor Heyes, what do you mean you spoke Yiddish before you spoke English? What language did you speak before English?"

"Silence," said Heyes, the light vanishing from his eyes. The Colonel was appalled.

Heyes brushed aside his hair to point out the ugly scar on his temple. "I couldn't talk or write at all after a posse shot me. I had to work hard to speak English again, and to write it. That's what brought me to New York and gave me the chance to go to college. And by the way, you shouldn't call me Professor until I really am one. I'm just an out of work graduate right now."

The Colonel looked piercingly at the famous retired outlaw. "Just? It is a remarkable story, yours, Mr. Heyes, even if you do not teach yet."

Heyes' brown eyes looked a bit distracted as he answered. "Danke, Oberst. It's what happens next that has me worried." The men shook hands before they parted. The German stood and watched his new American friends as they departed in Wainwright's surrey, wondering what, indeed, would happen to them next.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

That evening in the Heyes' little apartment, Beth was packing for their honeymoon trip to West Virginia. Heyes sat at his little desk laboring over job application letters.

Beth had her own little leather suitcase all set. Then she started neatly folding some shirts for her husband in a new suitcase that Matthias Peale had given him as a graduation and wedding present. She looked over at her husband and grimaced as he wadded up another sheet of paper, cursed bitterly, and threw it in the trashcan on top of a dozen others. "Aw, Heyes, none of the application deadlines are that soon. You can wait for that until we get back. Or at least until you have a few quiet moments in West Virginia. I wish you could wait until you have word back from the governors about your name."

Heyes stared at another sheet of creamy stationary lying on his desk while he answered. "Well, I can't. Or probably I can't. But I want to get this out of the way so I won't be fretting about it while we're there."

Beth looked in concern at the back of Heyes' head as he leaned over his desk. "It's up to you. But I'm almost done packing and I want to get to bed. We have a long train trip in front of us tomorrow and we need to be able to keep our eyes opened when we get there."

Beth neatly packed a couple of pairs of pants and a cowboy style belt, then looked at her husband. "Can you help me out here, Heyes? I'm not a man. I don't know what all a man wants on a trip where he might sit in nice parlors, go fishing and hunting, and I don't know what all."

Heyes sighed and balled up another sheet of paper. "I'm sorry, Beth. I didn't mean to make you do work that I ought to be doing. I'm taking a stupid amount of time over this."

"Is that the Harvard letter, honey?" asked Beth.

"Yeah. I've got a couple of others done, at least in draft. I'd be grateful if you would look at them to catch any trouble before I package them up with transcripts and send them off. But Harvard - I just can't seem to get my thoughts together."

Beth tried to help. "You've been there. How did you feel about the place?"

Heyes stopped his writing and thoughtfully ran his hand through his short hair just as he had done when it was long. "It's beautiful. It's amazing. With all those elegant buildings, and the old trees, and the great libraries. There's history everywhere, and top students and professors. It's about as ideal a campus as I can imagine."

Beth studied him. "So why do I get the distinct impression that you don't want to even apply there, much less go and teach there? Don't tell me it's just because it's east of the Mississippi. So is the University of Virginia and it didn't bother you so much to apply to them."

Heyes sounded resentful. "You're right. I guess it's just that it's . . . Harvard. You know. The other schools around Boston are so jealous, they tell me, that they call it 'the school across the river.' They won't say the name. The . . . Harvard guys aren't gonna even bother to turn me down. They'll just ignore the application and leave me twisting in the wind. You know they will."

Beth kept rolling pairs of Heyes' socks while she talked. "You could be right. Other schools might do that, too, as you know. It's way too common. It's appallingly rude, but common. So that's not it, either. You'll carry through all those applications, no matter how little chance you think you have."

Heyes looked up at Beth at last. "Come on – it's Harvard. They have dozens of real geniuses. There, once they knew my name, I'd just be a silly western curiosity. I'd be like a three-horned deer head on a wall. They'd stare and laugh for a while and then ignore me. They wouldn't care about my real work. They don't need me. They'd never even interview me, much less hire me. The western schools filled with farm and ranch boys who've had to give everything to get to school at all – they might listen. Hannibal Heyes means something real to them. Or I hope I would. They might even really need me."

Beth pulled the suitcase off the bed with a thump. "Come on over here, Heyes. I need you!" Soon, the newlyweds were in each other's arms and falling into bed. Applications and suitcases alike would have to wait.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

"Grrr . ." Kid Curry emitted a low sound like a growling bear. He was riding on a train from New York City to West Virginia with his new wife at his side. Heyes and Beth sat across from them.

"What is it, dear?" asked Cat without looking up from her knitting. Heyes had never seen his cousin-in-law knit before she had become pregnant. He had also never heard her call Jed Curry "dear." He wondered if there was a scientific explanation for this strange new behavior. He also wondered if pregnancy might suddenly produce such transformations in his own wife in her turn. He would be interested to find out, now that they had stopped taking precautions to prevent that from happening.

"Paperwork," grumbled Jed Curry. "I ain't even sat in that office in Louisville once and they find me all the way out here. A paycheck, good. But no. It's stuff I got to read and write and fill out. I'm puttin' in orders for bullets when I ain't fired one yet in the line of duty, not since I got sheriffed." He impatiently signed his newly resumed name yet again.

"You've been grumpy since we got on the train, Jed. I wish you'd give up on the paperwork," said Cat in a vain attempt to soothe her husband. "This trip is supposed to be relaxing."

"If I thought we'd be welcome when he get there, I might relax," replied Curry, "But that Corey Dunham makes me feel like I'm wanted all over again. Though I got to say, all the paperwork don't help."

"I'm buried in paper myself," moaned Heyes. "Damned applications. Won't none of them get replied to, much less get me an interview. Wish this train wasn't so bumpy and swayin' so allfired much." He wrestled with a pile of papers that threated to slide to the floor and scatter all over the train car.

"I wonder if Matt Dillon had this kind of dull stuff to worry him?" griped the Kid as struggled to write intelligibly despite the erratic motions of the train car they were all four riding in. He had to dive suddenly toward the floor when a small heap of papers started to slide. With Curry's incredible reflexes, though, not a single sheet reached the floor of the train car before he had nabbed them.

"Who's that . . . – oh, I remember, that marshal in Dodge City back a lot of years ago," said Heyes over his own unstable mound of letters.

"Yeah. Knew what he was doin', Dillon did. Gave us enough fits. Remember?" Curry looked up to catch his cousin's eye.

"Not as many fits as we gave him is the way I remember it." Heyes said as he leaned over to sign his name to a paper. "Never will get used to that," he muttered to Beth as he saw "Hannibal Heyes" appear with a bold flourish under his pen.

"Here, Heyes, let me at least write the envelopes for you," volunteered Beth.

"No thanks, Beth," said Heyes, throwing down his pen. "Just can't manage the paperwork till we get there. Not practical to write application letters and curricula vitae on a moving train. And besides, the country here's so pretty, I'd rather watch it go by." Beth suppressed a smile at how Heyes' speech alternated between careless syntax with western jargon when he was talking to his partner and precise grammar with academic terminology when he was talking to his new wife.

Late that afternoon they arrived at the Cheat, West Virginia, station. "Not much of a name," said Cat softly, looking around at the tiny ill-kept station, "or much of a place." But there was no one there to be offended.

"I don't know," said Beth. "I love the big old trees. And Cheat Lake might have a funny name, but it's beautiful. With lots of good fish, they tell me." A splash not far from shore bore out her words as a fat fish showed itself for just a second.

The four newlyweds sat down on a bench to wait for someone to come and get them. They looked around and listened to the sound of frogs and bugs singing around the lake whose shore lay just on the other side of the railroad tracks. "Does look like good fishing," commented Curry. "Nice, shady trees to sit under. Or could get a little row boat like that one over there and go out."

It wasn't long before a big wagon drawn by four bay horses pulled up. It read "Green Tree Hotel," on the side and was driven by Corey Dunham, who was married to Beth's sister, Barbara.

A sturdy boy of eight was at the driver's side. He stayed silent as his father called, "Good afternoon, folks!" He was giving at least a fair imitation of being glad to see them, but then, he was a professional hotel keeper. "Curtis, say hello to your Aunt Elizabeth, and these are your new uncles, Joshua and Jedediah, and this is your new aunt Catherine. Help me get their luggage into the wagon. Folks, this is my son, Curtis. Say hello like a Christian, Curtis." Heyes looked up uneasily. He didn't have official permission to use the name of Joshua yet. If anyone found out about this, he could be in serious trouble. But he didn't want to contradict his new brother-in-law in front of his son.

"Hello, sir, sir, ma'am, and Beth." said Curtis in his soft voice. His big, blue eyes stared at his new kin from under a mop of brown curls.

"Hello, Curtis," said Heyes quietly, with a smile and a gentle hand-shake, "I'm glad to meet you. You know my Beth, and your Uncle Jed's my cousin, and your Aunt Cat's his wife." Curtis nodded to each new adult in turn, and he actually smiled at Beth.

"They call me Cat," said that lady as she smiled at the boy. "You know – short for Catherine. It's good to make your acquaintance, Curtis. Jed and I run a hotel, too, out in Colorado." She didn't mention the bar to the boy, who was a bit tongue-tied in front of his very lovely new blonde aunt.

Curtis dutifully helped his father with all but the heaviest luggage. Corey refused to let Heyes and Jed help with anything but Cat's heavy trunk.

"We're in the hospitality business. We're here to help, not to make you work when you're supposed to be on your honeymoon," said Corey gruffly.

"Sure is a pretty place here!" Curry said loudly over the rattling of the wagon as they drove the short distance to the hotel. "You got good fishing in that lake, Curtis?"

"Yes, sir," said the boy, "We have trout, sunfish, perch, channel cats." The speech seemed long practiced with customers. "Do you fish out West?"

Curry looked fondly at the boy. "Yes, Curtis, I fish when I get time. H . . . Joshua and I, we've put a lot of lines in the water together since we were boys. Been quite a while, though. You don't have to call me sir. We're family." He tousled the boy's curly hair, which was only a little darker than his own.

"S . . . Uncle Jed – how are we family? I thought only Uncle Joshua was family now."

"Um, it's complicated. Joshua and I are second cousins. Our mothers were cousins. I'm not sure what that makes you and me, but family some way. And that means a lot. Joshua and I don't have much family."

Curtis inquired lightly, with no understanding of what he was asking, "Why? What happened to your family?"

Curry's face fell. He didn't know how to explain this to so young a boy. Heyes said, "Curtis, have you ever heard of the Boarder Wars out in Kansas?"

"No, sir."

"You don't have to call me sir, either. I'm your uncle and that's close family. Like Jed says, we don't have a lot of family. We value all the family we can get. Curtis, the Border Wars went on in Kansas at about the same time that the Civil War got started in 1861. It was very bad where we were. A gang of what they called border ruffians hit our farms. Jed and I were the only ones who got out alive."

Curtis's blue eyes got very big. "How old were you?" He whispered in awe.

"I was nine, Jed was seven. Jed was very brave. He saved my life."

Curtis was deeply impressed. "Wow! How did you save Uncles Joshua's life, Uncle Jed?"

"We'd better talk later, Curtis," said Jed as the wagon pulled up to the Dunham's hotel, the Green Tree House. It was a big old rambling wooden house that had obviously been added to again and again. Brick chimneys sprouted here and there.

Beth couldn't help but see her husband give a glance at the false-fronted building next door. It was the Cheat Lake Ale House. Corey Dunham, too, noticed the direction of his new brother-in-law's gaze as the three men and one strong boy unloaded the luggage. "They play a good brand of poker over there, Joshua, Jed. You'd be surprised. Mine owners and managers and rich tourists drop a pretty penny now and again."

"Oh?" Heyes pretended not to care as they walked into the hotel's front lobby – an old-fashioned wood-paneled room with a big brick fireplace and a handsome walnut desk where the keys were kept. Corey went to sit at the desk and handed Heyes and Jed each a key. A dark wood staircase with turned railings led to the upper stories. "I'm here to relax and be with Beth and you folks, not to play cards. Jed and I want to go fishing with Curtis. Don't we Jed?"

"Sure do!" said Curry with real interest. He loved few things more than spending a lazy few hours with a pole in his hand. He saw some antique poles hanging on the walls of the lobby.

Curtis looked at his father eagerly. "May I, Pa? Please? After I get my chores done?"

"No," said the senior Dunham dourly. His son tried to hide how crushed he was, but his Pa went on. "What use is it to go fishing after you get your chores done, son? You got to go out early to catch fish. We'll go out there all four together real early one morning. But not tomorrow. I'm sure your uncles could use some rest tonight."

Now Curtis perked up. "Thank you, Pa! I'll work real hard at my chores."

"Thank you, son. I know you will," Corey put a proud hand on his son's shoulder. "Now go get your mother and your sisters, boy."

But before Corey could leave the room, Barbara appeared, wearing a calico apron scattered with flour. She had a little girl holding to each hand. One was a chubby toddler who was scarcely old enough to walk without her mother's support, while the other was a curly-haired, sparkly-eyed girl of about three. "Welcome to the Green Tree!" said Barbara Dunham with a wide smile. "Hello, Beth! Cat, gentlemen, meet our girls. This is our little Virginia, and our big girl, Charlotte. I see you've met their brother Curtis."

"Yes, Ma'am," said the Kid. He went down on one knee to greet his little new nieces. He spoke softly so he wouldn't frighten them. "Hi girls. I'm your Uncle Jed, and this is your Aunt Cat. And this guy over here is your Uncle Joshua. He married your Aunt Beth."

The boys could see that these youngsters were friendly, used to seeing lots of strangers at their hotel. "Hi Uncle Jed!" piped bold little Charlotte as she pecked her handsome new uncle on the cheek. Then she went over to Heyes, who scooped her up in his arms and gave her a kiss. Beth, close at his side, reached over to add her own kiss.

"Hi Charlotte! I'm glad to be part of your family!" Heyes smiled. "And yours, Virginia!" Heyes released Charlotte so the child could greet Cat. Then Heyes bent down to greet Virginia. The littler girl wasn't quite as bold as her older sister, but she didn't pull back from these strange men. She giggled and grinned as Cat came over to take her in her arms. Meanwhile, Beth and Barbara were hugging happily.

An old lady's quavering voice called down from a room above them. "Beth, you must bring those gentlemen of yours and your new sister-in-law up to meet me. My knee won't stand going down all those stairs."

"That's our aunt Bertha," said Barbara. "She lives on the second floor and can't come down very often because of her arthritis. It surely is good to have you all here! Come back to the kitchen, girls."

The boys and their wives climbed the front staircase. They found Aunt Bertha in a suite on the second floor. She was a striking-looking lean old woman with her silver hair piled high on her head. It was easy to see that she had once been a beauty. She still had considerable presence. She stood up from an upholstered arm chair to greet them. "So, I finally get to meet Beth's mystery man. I was expecting Beth's description to be wrong. Rose colored glasses of love and all that. But you're handsome enough for anybody, Mr. Heyes, despite the scars. And Mr. Curry, you are certainly well worth a good look yourself. With a lady this lovely, I'm sure you'll have beautiful children. Welcome to the family!" Her watery old eyes shown with humor as she extended her arms to take Cat in a warm hug.

"We're mighty pleased to be in your family, Ma'am," said Heyes, leaning over to kiss his Aunt Bertha's hand gallantly. He tried not to show how taken aback he was that the old lady both knew who they were and really was obviously happy to meet them.

"I'm glad to meet you, Ma'am," said the Kid, taking the old lady's slender, trembling, blue-veined hand.

"Thank you!" said Aunt Bertha. "So, what does my great nephew think of having two outlaw uncles?"

Heyes and the Kid exchanged a quick glance. "I'm afraid he doesn't know that, yet," said Heyes softly. "Corey introduced us just as Jed and Joshua and the boy didn't seem to know any better. We thought we'd better talk to his parents in private before we set the boy straight. I don't have a clue of how they want to handle it."

"Oh!" said Aunt Bertha. "Then you'd better close that door so we can talk, Mr. Curry. Thank you. I suppose Corey and Barbara either prefer for you to introduce yourselves or maybe they hope that they can keep Curtis from finding out."

"If they think that, they'll be proven wrong in no time," said Heyes, sounding worried.

"Yes, indeed," said Aunt Barbara. "Mr. Curry might be able to get away with it as long as he doesn't use his nick name, but Mr. Heyes, you will have trouble. And as soon as you put your two names together, you're done for. So I guess you'll need to tell the boy as soon as you can. I don't have to tell you to be careful."

"We've had a lot of practice at it lately, Ma'am," said Heyes. "I just don't want to upset his parents. Curtis will cope with it alright, at least in time. It's good of you to treat us so well, considering. We really are beholden to you."

The elderly lady sat back down and looked at her new nephews-in-law, both standing respectfully with their hats in their hands. "I thought you, at least, Mr. Heyes, were such a sophisticate. Who taught you boys such good country manners?"

"Our parents, on our farms in Kansas, Ma'am," said Curry. "We might've forgot a lot when we went bad, but not how to be polite."

"Well, you don't have to keep calling me Ma'am, considering we're family now. Bertha will do, or Aunt Bertha if you prefer."

"In that case, you can just call me Heyes," said the darker of the two former outlaws, flashing a smile at his new relative.

"Really? If that's what you want, then that's what I'll do, Heyes. Is that what you call him when you're alone, my dear?" asked Aunt Bertha with a chuckle.

"Yes, Aunt," said Beth, as Heyes put his arm around her. "Or sometimes Joshua, since he wants to take it as his legal middle name. Joshua was how I knew him when we were first courting. Before I walked out on him, poor man." Heyes gave his sweetie a squeeze so she would know that he had fully forgiven her.

"And I'm Jed, and yeah, that's what she calls me," said Curry, putting his arm around Cat.

"Always, Bertha. And I'm Cat to everybody every place," said Mrs. Curry with a wink and a wicked laugh that Bertha immediately joined in. "We're awful glad to be in your family, even if the relationship is really kind of remote."

"As far as I'm concerned, those boys are brothers," said Bertha in her quavering voice. "So what could be closer than that?"


	6. Chapter 6

Slight revision to this chapter as of January 1, 2014.

Having finished meeting Aunt Bertha; Heyes, Beth, Jed, and Cat went up to unpack their luggage in their hotel rooms on the next floor up. "Nice aunt you got there! She's a real prize." the Kid said to Beth as they went down the hall on the third floor, the couples happily holding hands.

"She and Aunt Sadie were like a pair of mothers to Barbara and me when we were growing up," answered Beth. "Over the years, I've told her as much about you boys as I've dared to. She's fun, but she's discrete. I'm glad that we can be fully honest with her at last."

The two couples found their rooms a little smaller than they were used to out west, but nicely furnished with comfortable four-poster beds and frilly curtains. It didn't take long to put their things away in the handsome chests of drawers with which both rooms were furnished. Soon Beth said to Heyes, "Honey, I'd better go talk to Barbara and learn what I can so you won't be in the dark when you talk to Curtis this evening."

Heyes looked up from his new suitcase to catch Beth's eyes. "Thanks, honey. I sure feel bad sometimes with the fix I've put you in. I wish you could have just a regular husband who never was wanted dead or alive."

Beth gazed at her husband in pure adoration. "I wouldn't trade you for any man ever born, Mr. Heyes. Honestly, think how dull anyone else would be by comparison. So don't you worry, we'll figure it out together."

Heyes grinned happily. "That's a good thing, Mrs. Heyes, 'cause I sure wouldn't ever swap you for anybody. Nobody else understands the way my poor old gun-shot mind works - not even me."

Beth put her arms around her husband from behind, and he turned and kissed her. "Hm, excuse me, honey, I'll be back," said Beth.

Beth found her sister in the hotel's big old-fashioned kitchen stirring a beef stew that smelled delicious as it bubbled in an iron kettle over the fire in the vast brick fireplace. The two brown-eyed, brown-haired women looked very much alike, although Barbara was younger, more slender, and a little taller. Beth spoke softly, although the little girls were off playing in the backyard under a tree and there was no one but the two sisters in the kitchen. "Barbara! What's this with not telling your children who their uncles really are? The girls may not be old enough for it to make any difference, but Curtis is easily old enough. And if anyone from the law thought Heyes was purposefully using Joshua as an alias like he used to, he'd be imprisoned for the rest of his life."

Barbara turned around, aghast. "Oh my goodness, Beth! I'm sure Corey didn't mean to put Heyes in danger. Could what the children call him really cause him legal trouble? We could hardly have the children call him 'Uncle Heyes,' could we?"

Beth raised her eyebrows. "Why not? I'll bet he wouldn't mind. I'll ask him."

Barbara nodded, turning back to her pot. "You told me how much he hates the name Hannibal. I don't suppose I can blame him, considering what it's come to mean. But seriously, do you think we can have at least the little ones call him Joshua?"

"As long as nobody uses 'Joshua' outside your family and it's clear that Heyes isn't deceiving anyone, I suppose it'll be alright. I'll ask him how he feels about it. Of course, Heyes wasn't going to contradict Corey in front of the children. But please be careful around the hotel guests and the help. Just have them call him Mr. Heyes." Beth was still worried.

"I will," Barbara assured her older sister. "But you need to know – before we knew who Heyes and Jed were, Curtis read some dime novels about them. And you know what a precocious reader he is – he read that new grown-up novel on the boys, as well. He's a pretty enthusiastic fan of both of them."

Beth looked very anxious, "Oh dear! That does make it hard. It's a novel – not fact. My husband and his partner knew the author many years ago, but only a small amount of what he wrote is even distantly based on facts."

Barbara sounded worried as well, "We've tried to make sure Curtis knows not to trust everything he reads in those novels – or any novels. But the boy's been reading everything he can find in the papers about the murder trial. He was heartbroken when the armed robbery trial went against them. He still doesn't know that the boys were let out – it hasn't been in the papers all the way out here. Corey, of course, doesn't want his son to have criminals as heroes. So he's always spoken against the Devil's Hole boys. He's tried to soften his line since we got home, but we haven't dared to tell Curtis the whole truth yet. We thought it would be better for Heyes and Jed to tell him themselves. He'll have a lot of questions that only they can answer."

"That's true. Idolizing someone in books is one thing – knowing them in person is another. Heyes has a dear friend who used to read those dime novels and then turned on the man himself furiously when he found out who he really was. They sorted it out long ago, but the boys have learned to be careful. I can see where you and Corey would worry about how to tell Curtis about his uncles. I just hope the boy doesn't make it hard for his father. The son isn't the only one with a lot to learn."

Beth's sister looked compassionately at her. "I'll speak to Corey about it - again. He's trying not to be unfair to his new brother-in-law and his cousin. But Corey worries about you, and about the children. And me. You know how protective he is. He has a hard time trusting anyone with that kind of past."

Beth smiled at her younger sister. "I know. I did, too, as I told you. Corey's a good man. But so is my husband, and so is his partner. I'd better go and talk to them, and to Cat. I think they'll tell Curtis what they need to after dinner tonight, once the girls are in bed. If they wait any longer to tell him, your son could hear it anywhere. Heyes and Jed will be having to give their last names a lot while they're here. Word will get around. But I'll ask the boys to stay around the hotel today, where they can get along on Joshua and Jed, until they've talked to Curtis."

Barbara said, "Alright, Beth. We didn't expect the boys to be able to wait long to tell Curtis. I just hope it works out the way they want it to. It's not easy for any of us to live with legends, is it?"

"Least of all for the legends themselves," replied Beth.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Even as Beth was talking to her sister, Heyes was walking down the hotel's front staircase to the lobby. He found Corey at the front desk checking in a young couple. While Curtis was following the new customers up the stairs with their luggage, the retired outlaw found the momentary privacy to have a quiet word with his new brother-in-law. He leaned close so wouldn't have to speak loudly. "Corey, you know we have to tell Curtis about us tonight, right?"

"Yeah, Heyes," said Corey. "I know you got to. But I want you to know that I don't like my son to think well of criminals."

Heyes was patient and calm. "Of course not. I'd feel the same in your place. But we aren't criminals any longer. We haven't been since Curtis was a baby."

Corey stood up from the desk to face Heyes, his face flushing, "I know that. I respect that you want to do the right thing. But that people should treat you like it all never happened . . . like you never robbed all those folks . . . like you went straight and now it's all hunky-dory . . ." The hotel-keeper's voice began to rise in anger.

Heyes broke in on him, "If we could turn back the clock, man, believe me . . .!" The two men fell silent as they saw Curtis coming back down the stairs. Heyes turned abruptly and went out the front door. He had to go someplace and cool down before he faced Corey or Curtis again. He looked over at the saloon next door, but didn't dare to enter the place. Coming back to the hotel with liquor on his breath would only make things worse. Instead, Heyes pulled up a rocking chair on the hotel's big shady porch and sat down. It would have been pleasant just to sit there on such a pretty late spring day, if circumstances had been different. Heyes looked across the street at the town's general store and contemplated how much Cheat was like a little western town. There were a lot more trees around, and it was greener than in many places in the West. The road had mud where a western town would have had dust. But aside from that, Cheat was missing only the tumble weeds and cowboys. There was even the familiar ringing sound of the blacksmith shoeing a horse just down the street. And feeling trapped by his past was just as familiar to the former outlaw.

Curtis came to stand silently beside his new uncle. "What can I do for you, Curtis?" asked Heyes, knowing too well what the answer would be. Curtis looked into his uncle's brown eyes apprehensively, but didn't speak for a moment. "You don't have anything to be afraid of, boy."

Finally Heyes' nephew asked, very quietly, with his eyes darting from Heyes to the door of the hotel, "What were you and Pa arguing about, Uncle, um, Joshua?"

"We weren't arguing, we were just having a discussion . . ." When Heyes saw the disappointed look in his nephew's eyes, he gave Curtis a wry smile and started again. "Alright, yeah, we were arguing."

Curtis spoke softly, but his question was direct. "Pa doesn't like you, does he?"

Heyes was careful to keep eye contact with Curtis, not wanting it to look like he was avoiding any questions. "Not much. He doesn't know us real well yet. He just knows that I don't have a job and Beth does. But I only graduated a few days ago. It takes a while to get a post as a professor."

"I guess. But that's not what you were fighting about, is it?"

"No." Heyes was surprised at the boldness of this boy he had taken to be rather shy.

Curtis's blue eyes got very big and he spoke in a rapid whisper. "Was it about . . . who you and Uncle Jed really are?"

Heyes froze with his right hand near the gun at his hip. His eyes quickly scanned the dusty small town street and checked the hotel's front door. There was no one close enough to hear them, so he replied in a voice just above a whisper. "Yes. We've got to talk about that, but not here where anybody could come along. Jed and I won't keep anything from you, but we have to be careful."

Curtis nodded. "Ma and Pa didn't tell me anything, but I read the newspapers, and books." That told Heyes more than enough.

Heyes stood up, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Let's go talk, Curtis." He gave the boy what he intended as an encouraging smile, but Curtis could see how tense his uncle was.

Heyes, with his nephew at his side, strode into the hotel lobby. He went to the front desk. "Dunham, we can't wait for tonight. We have to talk now. You've got a real smart boy here, and he's been doing some figuring. I'm not going to lie to him and neither is Jed."

"Alright . . ." Corey Dunham pointedly left a gap where he would have said Heyes' name. "I don't want to lie, either. I'll get our man Willie to watch the desk and Barbara can get some of the kitchen help to watch the girls. We'll meet in our private parlor, in the back of the second floor, next door to Bertha's room."

Heyes nodded. "I'll get Jed. I think the girls are in the kitchen, if you can get them. Thanks, Corey. See you in five minutes, Curtis."

"Thank you, Uncle. . ," said Cutis, leaving the name hanging. There was an excited light in the eight-year-old's eyes. Heyes had no doubt that Curtis had guessed his uncles' real names correctly.

The Kid was in an armchair in his room, enjoying a cup of steaming coffee. He looked up from his coffee to see Heyes leaning in the doorway of his room. His partner, wearing boots and a gun, with his face shaded by his old black hat, looked very much like the fugitive Heyes of years before. Then as Heyes looked up, the fading red cut on his cheek came into view, reminding the Kid of how many things had changed since them. Heyes had his briefcase with him. The Kid could guess what was in it.

Heyes looked his partner in the eye. "Curtis has figured us out already. He didn't say the names, but he talked about books and newspapers. We're gonna meet in his parents' parlor, a floor down and in the back, in five minutes. Well, more like four, now."

Curry sighed and put down his coffee cup. "He's a smart boy, but I guess he's got the inside information to give him a few advantages on the figuring. I'll go find the girls."

Heyes stood up straight. "Don't bother. Corey's found them by now."

The Kid stood up and went to stand by his partner. "Probably all together in the kitchen. Why are women always in the kitchen when you want 'em?"

"Cooking for men," laughed Heyes.

"Or gossiping about us," Curry chuckled back.

The men shared a long look. Heyes looked tense. "This is about the last time we're gonna have this much control over our names. Word's gonna spread like wildfire in a little jerk-water town like this. And it'll go on from there."

"I guess. Let's go, Uncle Joshua. Did Corey ask you before he used that name on you?"

"No. We'll get it straightened out, but oh brother, it'll be touchy." Heyes rolled his eyes as the men fell into step down the hall.

"Or bother-in-law," said Curry with a mocking gleam in his eye.

"Very funny," remarked Heyes sarcastically.

The two partners went down the stairs together, noisy in their boots. They found Curtis waiting for them at the stair landing. He gave them an eager look and then turned to follow his parents in their door.

The adults gathered in ladder back chairs and on the sofa. Aunt Bertha had come to join them, looking stately on an overstuffed chair. Curtis stood, looking around at his elders, licking his lips nervously. Aunt Bertha said, in her slightly quavering voice, "Curtis, you are a brave boy. And a smart one. We all know that. So don't you worry."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Curtis, ducking his head shyly.

"Alright, Curtis, who do you think we are?" asked Heyes calmly.

The boy didn't say a word. "Don't be scared," said Curry. "We don't bite."

Curtis looked at his mother, who nodded. The boy said, "I'd like to tell you why before I say it. If you don't mind."

"Fine with me. It would have been my second question anyhow," said Heyes. "And I'll bet you know why I'd ask, too." The Kid nodded his agreement.

Curtis began softly but steadily, "I read in the local newspaper about your – the murder trial – of Hannibal Heyes – in Montana. In the stuff about the trial they said that Heyes was in graduate school in New York. They got the school and the subject wrong, so it threw me off for a while. But they said he had been at an aphasia clinic in New York and studied with a woman and was engaged to her. They didn't give the name of the clinic or the teacher, but it sounded right for Aunt Beth and her fiancé to me. How many western guys would get engaged to a woman at an aphasia clinic in New York? A friend I told thought I was day-dreaming, but it all fit so well. Heyes was in New York at just the right time for Aunt Beth's student from Colorado – just the right years. Newspapers can make mistakes, like anybody. Heyes said math stuff at the trial – he – you - had to be studying math, not physics. And then it would be at Columbia, not New York University." Heyes nodded. The boy was pretty astute. Every adult was paying rapt attention to this carefully told story by this young boy. His voice was rising with emotion and he spoke more rapidly as he went on.

"And the paper said how Heyes got off, but how he and the Kid got arrested and taken off to Wyoming after the trial to stand trial on armed robbery. And then they got thrown into prison. I know Ma and Pa were upset because of something about Aunt Beth right about then. And I even remember things being upset with Aunt Beth right when they said the shooting took place." Barbara Dunham nodded for her son to go on.

"And, and, then here you are – with short hair, both of you, like they shaved your heads in prison. And that cut on your face, Uncle, like something that could happen in prison. And you're both wearing cowboy hats and guns tied down on your hips, like professional gunmen." The Kid and Heyes both nodded. Heyes looked at his cousin, who looked back.

"The only thing is, why aren't you guys in prison in Wyoming? So I figured you must have got – must have gotten – amnesty. And a pardon for the robbery charge. Right? And then Columbia let Heyes graduate. And then you all four got married, with Ma and Pa there. Right? Right?"

The Kid nodded again. He spoke in a slow western drawl, like the character out of a western dime novel that he was, "Appears to me, this boy has us dead to rights, Heyes."

Heyes nodded back. "He sure does, Kid. Every last detail, on the nose." He smiled at Curtis. "And he won't be the only one, now that the story's hitting the papers at last."

Curtis's eyes were as big as saucers. "You mean I'm right? You really are Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry?" He asked breathlessly.

Heyes laughed softly, "What, you don't believe your own argument? Of course you're right! Here's a New York newspaper from this morning with a story about the amnesty, and the wedding, and – by the way - Curtis, how your Uncle Jed out-shot Buffalo Bill's fast-draw champion on our wedding day. It's by a western journalist out of Wyoming by the name of Harriott Sparhawk. Never heard of her before, but she's got her facts better than anybody I've ever seen. Some of the facts are from New York and some from out West, and she put them all together. Made a good story of it. There are a couple of wrong details, but I know where she got them – from the same source as the stories about the trial that you read, Curtis." Heyes reached into his briefcase and handed Curtis the newspaper, folded to expose the story in question. Curtis took the paper eagerly. Heyes was jealous of how rapidly the boy could read. He was a lot faster than his academic but still slightly aphasic uncle.

When Curtis looked up from the article, Heyes took it back and put in back into his briefcase. And then he took out a thick sheaf of official papers. "And you know what this is, Curtis?" Heyes asked.

Curtis shook his head. Heyes handed him the papers. "Careful with those, boy. They're life or death to me."

"Mine are just like that, too, Curtis," said the Kid.

Curtis looked up at his uncle in awe. He looked at the papers, carefully, one by one. He was breathing fast. "Your amnesty papers! And the pardon! With all those seals and stamps! Golly! You want to see, Ma, Pa, Aunt Bertha?"

Aunt Bertha smiled, but spoke severely. "Now Curtis, you ask your uncle for permission before you go handing around his valuable papers like that. You just heard him say how important they are."

"I'm sorry, Uncle – gosh, what do you want me to call you? It says you can't use your alias anymore for any purpose."

Heyes gave a rather sad little smile. "No, I can't. I don't suppose it will hurt anything for the little girls to call me Uncle Joshua, so long as you older folks know who I really am and nobody's deceived. But for you, Curtis, how about Uncle Heyes? That suit you?"

"Wow! It sure does. And only I can call you that, in all the world?"

Heyes said, "Well, your sisters could, too, if they like. But you're my only nephew. Our only nephew. So the Kid and I are kinda' excited about you. They say you've got no cousins – yet."

"Yet?" asked Curtis. All the adults laughed at that.

"Might be we'll fix that, by and by, Curtis," smiled the Kid, with a fond look at his pregnant wife. And Heyes smiled at Beth and touched her hand. Curtis, catching on to what they meant, blushed hard.

But the boy was not abashed for long. He looked back and forth between his infamous Uncles and asked, "Uncle Heyes, Uncle Jed, can I tell my friends who you are?"

"Sure," said the Kid. "It's the truth. Like you saw in those papers, we got to tell the truth now."

But Heyes held up a hand. "Wait a minute, Jed, before you give out our names all over the place like that. Corey, do you know if the amnesty poster's up in your sheriff's office or police office or whatever you've got here in Cheat?"

Corey nodded. "Yeah, it is. In the sheriff's office. I went to look. They took down the wanted posters and put up the, whatever you want to call it, the thing about your amnesty right where they were." Corey Dunham didn't sound particularly gleeful at this news.

"Our wanted posters used to be up here? In West Virginia?" asked the Kid in surprise.

"Yeah!" said Curtis. "I saw them! But can I tell my friends, now that the amnesty thing is up?"

"Well, maybe, but I've got another question," said Heyes. "The amnesty hasn't gotten into the local paper yet, has it?"

"No, it hasn't, yet," said Barbara, "so maybe you'd both better be careful. All it would take would be one excited guy with a gun who didn't know about the amnesty and thought he could get $30,000 from putting a bullet in each of you . . ."

"I agree with you," said the Kid, "so Curtis, can you please, please sit on our real names until the amnesty's in the newspaper here?"

Corey looked outraged. "Curry, he's just a boy! That's a big secret."

"I trust him," said Heyes matter-of-factly.

"I do, too," said the Kid.

"I'll keep your secret, Uncle Jed, Uncle Heyes. I will – cross my heart and hope to die!" said Curtis stoutly.

"Thank you," said Curry. "We surely do appreciate that. I hope it won't be long."

"And Curtis," added Heyes solemnly, "When you are able to talk about us, I just ask you to be kind of careful. You don't ever want to come across as bragging about being related to us. That would make you look pretty bad. If you want to, you might be proud of a sheriff and a professor. But don't you ever be proud of a pair of dirty outlaws, alright?"

That seemed to satisfy Corey, whose fierce look started to ebb. "Alright, Uncle Heyes," said Curtis. "After what I read in the papers, I'm proud of you both for what you did after you went straight. But I've got a question for Aunt Beth. You'd really marry an outlaw? That doesn't seem like you."

"No, I wouldn't, Curtis," said Beth, shame-facedly. "You're right. After Heyes finished up at the clinic and went to college, we started seeing each other. But when Heyes told me who he really was, I'm afraid I left him. However, we stayed friends. We wrote back and forth when I was taking care of your great aunts in Maryland, but we didn't see each other."

"Until you came back to me when I really needed you, honey," said Heyes, taking his wife's hand, "When I was lying in a hospital bed almost dead of pneumonia and an infected bullet wound. But we didn't get married until the amnesty and the pardon came through."

Curtis had lots of other questions he wanted to ask all about that, but there was a cry up the stairs from Willie. Corey was needed at the front desk. And Barbara needed to go take charge of her little daughters. So the family meeting broke up.

"Wow, I have outlaw uncles!" said Curtis to himself as his parents left the room. "Gee!"

Corey turned back to his son. "Son, you've got chores to do. And remember what your Uncle said – don't you be bragging about dirty outlaws in the family."

Barbara went and found Heyes in his room after that. Little Charlotte and Virginia were with her, so she couldn't talk openly. She just handed Heyes a letter, saying, "Uncle Joshua, this came for you. We're glad to have your mail routed here this week, don't you worry. Hope it's good news! And I hope the name on the address doesn't cause you any trouble."

Beth and Heyes looked intently at the letter, which was addressed to "Mr. Hannibal Heyes." It came from Governor Joseph O'Toole of Montana. The pair read the letter breathlessly. It said, "Mr. Heyes, your reasoning makes sense to me. So long as you are fully honest about your identity to all with whom you have dealings, I have no objection to your taking any middle name that you please. I wish you the very best with your academic applications. Please do keep me informed of your progress. I wish that I could tell you of any suitable position announcements in Montana, but I have not heard of any thus far."

"Whew!" said Heyes. "One down and three to go."

"Oh, honey, that's great news!" said Beth. "And quickly, too, for a governor. I hope I'll be able to call you Joshua soon. Not that I don't like Heyes, because I surely do."

It was almost dinner time, so the hotel was busy as dinner preparations got underway. It wasn't until after dinner, during which the little girls were distracting everyone's attention, that Curtis got to talk to his outlaw uncles again. Once Barbara had put the little girls in bed, the boys, Cat, Beth, Barbara, Corey, and Curtis got to sit down again in privacy and peace. Aunt Bertha had already gone to bed. "Curtis," said Jed, "I think you had a question for me that I didn't have time to answer earlier. When the wagon pulled up here."

While being thrilled about learning who his uncles were, Curtis had almost forgotten the hair-raising story of how his uncles had come to be orphaned. "Oh yeah. Uncle Heyes said how brave you were and how you saved his life when you were boys."

"When our families were killed in the Border Wars," said Heyes. "The fighting had been going on a few years by then, but hit our area in 1861 and the beginning of 1862."

Curtis looked at his father and then his mother before he asked, "Yes. What happened?"

"I ain't gonna tell you the particulars, boy," said the Kid. "It's not real nice stuff. All you need know is that those bad men killed my Ma and Pa, and Heyes' Ma and Pa and all our brothers and sisters. And burned out houses and barns. Your uncle and I – we were out fishing. We came back . . ."

Heyes took up the story. "We saw the smoke. Other families had gotten burned out before ours. So we knew what the signs were. We tried to follow the border ruffians who did all the killings."

Curry took up the tale again. "But they shot at us. A slug caught my cousin here in the shoulder. So I stayed there and looked after him. I found an old farm shed and got him into it. Bullet went right through him, thank goodness. I was younger than you are now. No way I could've dug a bullet out of his shoulder."

Heyes looked gratefully at his cousin. "But Jed found food for me and cleaned my wound and kept me alive. He was only seven. I still don't know how he managed to keep me alive, and him, too."

Curtis, too, turned to Jed Curry, "How did you do all that, Uncle Jed?"

Curry could feel not only the boy but his parents listening. "I trapped some prairie hens and jack rabbits the way my Pa taught me to do. But it wasn't enough – everybody else was after the same critters. And it was winter, so there wasn't much on the prairie to eat."

"Wasn't there anyone who would help you?" asked Barbara.

Jed looked troubled as he remembered. "No. There weren't many folks left alive around after that, and they'd lost pretty much everything they had. I was little and could run fast. So what little they had – I stole."

Curtis's eyes were round, but he didn't say anything. Heyes could see his brother-in-law thinking about these long ago events, too, and what they meant for the men who had just married into his family.

Heyes nodded. "Yeah, it was steal or starve. And no parents or anybody else to set us straight. I'm afraid I didn't much care where the food came from, as long as we got something to eat every two or three days."

Curtis was stunned. "Only every two or three days? You must have been starving!"

Heyes nodded. "Yeah, not what you usually mean by that word but really. Not just hungry. Starving."

Jed went on, "Finally, the Union Army showed up. I got a bit from 'em here and there, but they were hungry, too. They took every bite there was in the country and took to chasing me off pretty fierce."

Heyes' eyes looked bleak as he continued the story, "When we couldn't get anything from the army; there just wasn't anything left. I don't remember a whole lot of deals."

"You wouldn't, Heyes. Even hurt as he was, he turned down food so I could eat, Curtis," said Jed Curry, looking pointedly away from his cousin.

"Wow, that was nice of you!" said Curtis.

"Maybe. I don't recall," said Heyes, looking down and refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

Jed added, "Finally, the army got sick of chasing us off. They took us and turned us in to a place called the Valparaiso Home for Waywards. Guess we really were pretty wayward by then."

"Is that how it happened? I'd forgotten," said Heyes bleakly. "What I do recall was that it was a bad place. Little food, little teaching, little warmth in winter. Lot of work."

Curtis said in amazement, "It sounds like the orphanage in Oliver Twist."

"Huh?" Jed was puzzled.

But Beth smiled. She knew what her nephew meant. Heyes did, too. He said, "Yeah, I guess it was. But the work was on a ranch, so kind of different work."

Jed said, "After we got some food in us, we spent most of our time running away."

"And getting caught and taken back and beaten," added Heyes. "Finally, Jed and I had had enough. We stole horses and rode off so far they never could get us back."

"How old were you?" asked Corey.

"I was 15 and Jed was 13. So then we were starving again. Nobody wanted to help out a couple of skinny, ignorant kids who looked so disreputable. I did what work I could, but I wasn't much of a provider for poor little Jed. A lot of the time we had no place to stay, nothing to eat, rags to wear."

Jed stoutly defended Heyes from his own guilt, "You did fine, partner. Nobody could've done better. And I did what I could."

Heyes smiled at his cousin, "You sure did work hard, for a skinny little guy."

There was a long quiet moment. Finally, Curtis said, "So how did you get to be outlaws?"

"We were about to starve to death in Texas one time, when a guy came and got us and took us back to his place for some food," said Jed. "He and his friends fed us pretty good, gave us clothes to wear, horses to ride."

Heyes spoke reluctantly as he continued the story, "Then he asked us to help out with what he and his friends were doing. We weren't happy, but they made it real clear that if we didn't help, they'd throw us out to starve."

"What didn't you want to do?" asked Corey.

"Help them get the loot away from a train robbery," said Heyes with a bitter edge to his voice.

"It was a gang?" Curtis was transfixed.

"Yeah, Curtis. That's how we first joined a gang," said Heyes. "We did the simple stuff, at first. Then they figured out what a great shot the Kid was. And that I had a few skills, myself."

Curtis's eyes were shining as he whispered, "Uncle Jed, are you really the fastest gun in the West?"

The Kid shrugged. "I haven't faced every gunman in the West. I've beat the ones I've faced, but you never know who's next and how fast he'll be. Nobody wins out forever. There are holes in me, but not from guys I've faced down. Not yet. And when the guys I've beat got friends around, Heyes draws and keeps guard on me."

"But I thought you didn't shoot guys, Uncle Jed?" said Curtis in puzzlement.

"I'll tell you his secret, Curtis," said Heyes in a stage whisper, leaning close to his nephew. "He's so fast, he doesn't have to shoot guys he's facing down. He gets his gun out and cocked and aimed at them before they can draw. So he doesn't generally even have to pull the trigger. When he does, he just wings them so they can't shoot him or me." Heyes chuckled happily and returned to speaking at a normal volume, "And he's d . . . real accurate, too. The other day he beat a German champion. And I mean beat him bad. The Kid was out of practice and hadn't even shot at targets before and he beat this Colonel who was in good practice and been shooting targets his whole life. The man beat me, but the Kid had him dead to rights."

The Kid grinned. "That German - he didn't beat Heyes bad – and Heyes was out of practice way worse than me. Nobody ever gives Heyes credit for his good shooting, outside of that courtroom in Montana. You should have seen him, Beth – every shot in the gold and quick as any sheriff going."

Beth's eyes shone and she put an arm around her husband. "I wish I could have been there, Heyes, to see you."

"Ha! To see me lose," muttered Heyes, but he took Beth's hand.

"Pa," said Curtis, "you said you would teach me to shoot soon. Do you think Uncle Jed could teach me some, if he would?"

Corey looked appraisingly at Jed Curry. "Well, Curry, you interested?" he asked as if in challenge. "I'm not saying yes, but I'm not saying no – until I know more."

"What've you taught him already about guns?" asked Jed, looking at Corey cautiously.

"Tell him, Curtis," said Corey, proudly, "tell him what I've taught you."

Curtis spoke with calm confidence. "Pa taught me never to touch a gun if I don't have to. To always assume a gun is loaded. Never to point a gun at anyone. Never to play with a gun. Always keep a gun locked up safely if you aren't using it. And to carry a pistol with two hands."

Curry nodded. "Good. That's real good, Curtis. Got to start with safety before you ever shoot, and stick with it. You ever go against any of that?"

"No sir!" said Curtis. "Never. Pa'd tan my hide if I did."

"Worse than that, boy, you might not live, or somebody else might not," said the Kid. "Guns make it way too easy to hurt people and kill people. You could make the mistake and someone else could pay. You got that?"

"Yes sir," whispered Curtis.

Curry nodded again. "And you're never too old to pay attention to the rules. I ought to know. I broke one a few years ago and someone else paid. I'll never forgive myself."

"What was the rule, Curry?" asked Corey, horrified to discover this about a man even he had assumed was flawless with a gun.

"My pa taught me to always make sure everyone was clear before I pulled the trigger – or everyone I wasn't out to shoot. I didn't know where my partner was, but I pulled the trigger anyhow. Heyes'll limp for the rest of his life, I expect."

"Limp? I do not limp!" said Heyes fiercely. Then he sounded less certain. "Do I?"

The Kid looked at Heyes sadly, "Yeah, partner, when you're tired, you do. A little. From that bullet I put in your hip on that train."

Heyes sighed impatiently, "Kid, I wish you'd stop apologizing for that. You'd just gotten shot in the trigger arm. And there was a guy with his gun pointed at your heart just a few feet away and he was gonna pull the trigger. You had to shoot or die and you know it."

The Kid flared up, "How do you know, Heyes? You were lying on the floor in the dark, dying of pneumonia."

His partner answered patiently, "Because it's what you told me, Kid. And I trust you more than anyone."

"After I shot you and you almost died?" Curry still sounded angry at himself.

Heyes nodded crisply. "Yeah, Jed. You've learned more than one lesson, and so have I."

"So, you still want me to teach your son, Corey?" Jed asked their host.

Corey stopped and thought, looking from his son to Kid Curry and back again. "Well, Curtis, do you want to learn from a man with that kind of experience?"

Curtis stopped and looked into the cool blue eyes of the most famous gunman in the United States. Then he looked at his father. He spoke in a whisper. "Yes, please, sir. You always said you learn best from mistakes – though maybe somebody else's."

Corey laughed. "Alright, son. You can start tomorrow, if Mr. Curry is ready."

Jed asked, "Do you have a light rifle or light pistol handy? I've only got pretty heavy hardware with me – fit for a sheriff - much too heavy for a boy to start on."

Corey nodded, "Yeah, I've got a 32 pistol and a light rifle, all ready. Knew I wanted to start teaching Curtis this year."

Curry studied the man. "You keep them locked up safe?"

Corey didn't hesitate. "Yes, of course I do. I won't ever leave a gun around for my boy or some visiting child, or a criminal, to come across. Under lock and key."

"Good. Then we can start whenever you're ready, Curtis."

Curtis looked as if all his best dreams were coming true. His father tousled his hair and Curtis looked up at his Pa proudly.

Then Curtis looked back at Heyes, who'd been silent throughout all the talk about guns. Jed said, "Curtis, you know who taught me to shoot?"

"You pa?"

"He died when I was younger than you, so he didn't have time to teach me much past the safety stuff we just talked about. The man who taught me the most was Heyes."

"Really?" Curtis looked at Heyes again, with even more respect.

"I gave him the basics, in a field out back of the Home, calling on what my pa and his had taught me," said Heyes quietly, "But the Kid rode with some pretty slick gunslingers over the years – I'm sure they polished him up a lot more than I did."

"Just the fancy stuff, Heyes. What you taught me is what matters," said the Kid. "Hope you can come out with us and make sure I teach Curtis right. Huh, Professor?"

Heyes nodded. "Sure thing. Wouldn't miss it. You just pay attention, Curtis. Remember – the most important thing is how and when not to shoot. And that's most of the time."

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

"Uncle Joshua?"

Heyes jerked awake. The dim light told him that it was very, very early in the morning. The voice was that of his little niece, Charlotte. Heyes opened his eyes. As his sight adjusted to the pre-sunrise light, he could see her standing barefoot on the wooden floor of the bedroom where Heyes and Beth were staying. Charlotte was wearing nothing but a dainty pair of panties.

"What's that mark right there?" she reached out and touched the little protuberance of the bullet scar on Heyes' hip. The retired outlaw was lying on his stomach in bed, so the injured hip was easy for the child to reach.

Heyes froze. Charlotte's gentle touch reminded him that he wasn't wearing a stich. The night had been very warm and he wasn't wearing even a night shirt. Heyes could feel the sheet down around his ankles. Beth was still asleep beside him, safely under the sheet. Heyes didn't dare to sit up or move much at all or he would suddenly show the three-year-old girl a whole lot more adult male anatomy than would be a good idea. He was already showing way too much for propriety what with the full rear view. The child's parents were sleeping in the room next door and could arrive at any moment. So Heyes stayed lying right where he was, with his cheek on the pillow.

Heyes answered Charlotte very quietly, trying not to wake anyone else. "That's a place where I got hurt a long time ago, honey. But it's real early. Why don't you go back to bed?"

"Not sleepy. It's morning," she lisped. "Papa goes fishing real early sometimes. Why don't you get up?"

"I'm not going fishing. I want to sleep some more. So does Aunt Beth."

"Oh. I want to play!" The little girl sounded eager to get her friendly uncle to participate.

Heyes tried hard not to sound irritable, even as he delivered a difficult message, "Well, nobody else wants to play this early. So you need to be a big girl and be patient for a while. Go back to bed and maybe you'll get sleepy."

Charlotte considered this for a moment. "Do you love me, Uncle Joshua?"

"Of course I love you. I love you very much." Heyes was a little startled to realize how true this was already. The powerful emotions of suddenly having a family had caught him by surprise.

"Good, 'cause I love you. You're a nice uncle!" Heyes smiled in real delight as the child prattled on, "Does Uncle Jed love me?"

"I guess so, but you'd have to ask him."

The little girl turned eagerly to go out the door. Heyes called after her. "But not right now, honey! Wait until everybody's up for breakfast and ask your Uncle Jed then. You'll get a better answer."

"Oh. Alright. Bye-bye, Uncle Joshua. I'm glad you came to see us."

"Me, too, Charlotte. See you later."

Charlotte pattered out the door. Heyes heard the door to the next room open as the child's parents let her into their room. Heyes wondered if they had been listening to his every word. At least if they had, he didn't think he'd said anything they'd object to. After Charlotte had vanished and Heyes could hear her mother putting her back to bed in the girls' room down the hall, Heyes sat up and pulled the sheet up to his waist.

Heyes had been feeling vibrations through the bed for some time. Once the little girl had left, Beth laughed aloud. "Oh, Heyes. I love, you, too! As patient as you were with that child at what is it? Four in the morning? I think you should be beatified at the very least."

"Be – what?"

"Beatified. It's a stage on the way to saint-hood."

"Saint-hood! If anybody on the face of the earth ought to know chapter and verse on why I'm no saint, it's you." Heyes kissed his wife tenderly.

When she next could, Beth asked her husband, "Are you still sure you want children of your own, Joshua?"

Heyes answered, "Positive! Mine and yours. Ours."

"Good, 'cause I still do, too."

Heyes gazed affectionately at Beth in the soft light and caressed her shoulder under her silk nighty. He whispered. "I hope Charlotte doesn't come back soon, because there's still time before we have to get up. I know what I'd like to do, Aunt Beth. I've changed my mind about wanting to play. Do you think she might come back?"

"She just might," said Beth impishly.

"I'll chance it. But just in case, we'll lock the door. Just shutting it doesn't seem to be enough with these Dunham children. You don't think they can pick locks, do you?" Now Heyes was the one laughing.

I have to note that, due to going with what is said in the series, the historical aspect of the stories told about how Curry and Heyes were orphaned are all mixed up. Don't take this as anything accurate about the real Border Wars.


End file.
